You've Got to Be Kidding Me
by JetGriffins89
Summary: She couldn't believe this. Magic just can't be real, and how exactly was she supposed to survive with the Marauders trying to figure out everything? What would the harm be if she told them, anyways? She's already messed everything up. Companion to Why Not
1. A Long Standing Rivalry

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own anything. If I did, the Marauders would not have died; they would have lived long, fruitful lives causing mayhem and chaos, like it was meant to. That never happened, therefore I own nothing._

_**Story Summary: **_Bridget Griffins had never really been considered normal, but this was weird even for her. Magic just can't be real and even she knows that time travel is too dangerous, especially if you've already changed it beyond repair.

_**Author's Notes:**_ This is the result of a "what if" discussion I had with one of my friends about time travel. So, I took a few of the scenarios we came up with and one of my original characters and wrote this. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it.

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Chapter One

A Long Standing Rivalry

"_Everything you can imagine is real." –Pablo Picasso_

Bridget had never really been considered normal, even by herself. It hadn't ever bothered her, either; she was happy enough, content with her life. It was just… she'd always been a little odd and her almost ten year obsession with a fictional book series only managed to prove the point.

It had been a long week full of mind-numbingly boring schoolwork, concerned family and friends, and an oddly high number of disgruntled customers. Bridget was tired and she had just been locking up, ready to find something similar to dinner at a fast-food joint, when she tripped over a book lying directly outside the front door.

It was a copy of the fifth _Harry Potter_ book, one that, by its tattered state, had either been well-loved or utterly despised. And it had tried to kill her. She sighed. Wonderful, even her beloved books had turned against her.

Still, Bridget had never been able to leave a book in distress, much less one in the _Harry Potter _series. With a tired sigh, she picked it up and turned to go back into The Bookshop-- the aptly named second-hand and new bookstore that she had frequented since childhood and worked at for almost two years.

She didn't make it back inside. Not for a long time.

"Oh, heavens," Bridget moaned. She clutched her head, not even noticing that the book that had started it all was nowhere in sight, much less in her possession. Nor did she notice that the door she had been opening had disappeared, along with the building it led to. The only thing she was currently aware of was—"My _head._"

"What are you doing here?"

Bridget nearly groaned at the voice. Stupid, foreign tourists think they can—

"I _asked,_ 'What are you doing here?'" the accented voice—British?—repeated sharply. It sounded like the sort of voice that didn't know what 'soft' or 'warm' was.

"I _heard _what you asked," she responded, shorter with him than she normally would be, but her head was _pounding _and he was just the latest thing to go wrong in too little time. "I just _chose _not to respond. However, since you asked so _very _kindly," Bridget opened her eyes and-- feeling much like she had when, caught up in her thoughts, she'd walked right into a pole-- abruptly realized she wasn't at The Bookshop. In fact, she had never seen this place before, but she wasn't about to let the sneering boy in front of her know that. "I'm standing here with a pounding headache. Sadly, I fear your dulcet tones are too much, and it's becoming a migraine."

The boy didn't take the comment well and Bridget wondered if she should have, perhaps, taken the politer route that she normally preferred. Oh well, either way it was too late now.

He stepped closer, as if to trap her between his body and the wall she was leaning against, an ugly sneer twisting his already unattractive face. She glared right back. Even if the guy was tall, he was skinny too, more bone than muscle, and she was used to much scarier antagonists. He was no threat, even if she was confused.

"Now," the boy drawled, words dripping off his tongue sickly-sweet like warm molasses, "what would an _American_ be doing at Hogwarts?"

Bridget's eyes darted down to the green and silver tie hanging around his neck, the snake emblazoned patch on his pocket, and the wooden stick he was fingering before shooting back up to his gleeful black eyes. A _Slytherin_? Wonderful, she'd lost her mind.

Huh, well… it was bound to happen sooner or later.

"What I'm doing is none of your business," she said in a level voice. "Now, as touching as your concern is, if you could back up a bit we could both go on our merry—separate—ways. I would be most appreciative."

Instead of backing up, the boy took another step forward, attempting to look menacing as he came perilously close to her. It wasn't entirely unexpected, but it still annoyed Bridget to no end.

"That's the wrong way, love," she said before she could stop herself. "I said _back up, _not come a bit closer."

"But I'm quite comfortable here."

Her eyes narrowed. Okay, that was _it._ She had completely _had _it! Her brain was still throbbing in its bony encasement and she was _apparently _completely insane. What she did not need at the present moment was for this boy to keep bugging her. For the love of—he was a figment of her _imaginatio__n_and he _still _wasn't leaving her alone.

The universe had it out for her.

"Seriously dude, what is your _problem? _Did you just get rejected or something?" His expression darkened and Bridget wondered if she had hit a nerve. However, by this point she was too annoyed, and kept plowing on. "Are you trying to assert your masculinity on the poor, defenseless newbie? Well, guess what, grease-bucket? I am not going to stand here and take it! Leave. Me. _Alone!"_

He grabbed her wrist with his free hand and twisted her arm above her head, leaving Bridget feeling more vulnerable than she had in a while. Almost instinctively her left hand tightened into a fist, and she was glad that she'd gotten into those few scrapes when she'd been younger. God, she hated fist-fighting; it was so… so _boring._

"Oi, Snape!"

Bridget's head snapped to the side, something she realized wasn't very clever when her head throbbed again. Her brain felt like it was trying to escape by digging its way through her skull with an exceptionally dull spoon. Reflexively, she her eyes shut, as if that would somehow make the pain go away, and her hand uncurled, once again finding itself at her temple.

"Potter. Black. Lupin," the boy—Snape—snarled. He let go of her and took a step back, thankfully away from her. Her wrist was stinging, partially from the sharp needle-like sensation of blood rushing back, but Bridget refused to look down to see if a purple bruise was starting to spread. "This is none of your business."

Now didn't that sound familiar? It seemed like he could distinguish between his own business and others well en—Wait.

Bridget slowly raised her head to take a good look at the jerk who had been bothering her. Tall and thin. Long, greasy black hair. Sallow skin. Black eyes. Sneer.

Oh, God, _Snape?_

"I'm Head Boy, Snape. If you're harassing a student it _is _my business."

Bridget turned to the other voice, afraid that what she saw would confirm her fears.

It did.

A tall, thin boy with messy black hair stood front and center, wand (well, she assumed it was a wand, otherwise he was just holding a stick in a strangely confident and threatening manner) gripped firmly in his right hand. His hazel eyes were narrowed, full of pure loathing as he scowled at Snape.

To his right was an equally tall but broader built boy. He was very handsome in all the classical ways, with silky black hair and clever gray eyes, but the sharp grin playing at his lips had a frightening edge to it. He seemed to be anticipating the fight with more excitement than was normal.

The last boy seemed to be the most approachable, at least at the moment. He was taller than the other two but thinner, with an almost sickly look about him that was only emphasized by the gray streaking his light brown hair and his pale skin. His blue eyes were kind and the only ones focused on her instead of Snape.

She felt the blood drain from her face.

The Marauders.

"She's not a student, Potter."

Snape's voice brought her back down to Earth, and she glared at him. "That doesn't mean you can _harass _me you jerk. Jeez."

Bridget realized her hands on her hips, like they normally were when she was scolding someone, only when Snape took another step forward and she had to resist pushing him away. His scowl deepened and he was gripping his wand so tightly his knuckles were white. He took yet another step closer to her, wound as tight as a cobra ready to strike.

Power seemed to bleed into the air around him, and she was glad that she was against a wall. That way she couldn't take the step away from him that almost every nerve in her body was screaming for her to. Instead, Bridget glared right back at him, refusing to back away that last inch or flinch at his hard gaze.

She'd often been told how stubborn she was.

"Leave her alone, Snape," James said firmly.

He had stepped closer to her and Snape, and the presence of his arch-nemesis was drawing Snape's attention more than the stubborn American stranger. He backed away from her, turning to James as if he was expecting a fight—and welcoming it.

"It doesn't matter is she's a student or not," James continued. "You shouldn't be bothering _anyone._"

He strolled closer to her and Snape, distracting the other boy completely, and Bridget let herself sag against the wall. With a sudden clarity that startled her, the situation had finally sunk in and she was starting to feel rather overwhelmed. And nauseous.

"Who says I was bothering her? Not everyone falls over themselves for you, Potter."

James regarded him with scornful amusement. "Of course they do. Where have you been for the last six years?"

Neither boy said anything meaningful, only exchanging barbs that seemed to be more habitual than anything else, but the confrontation had something that seemed to go beyond a childhood rivalry, something stronger, deeper, and more dividing than mere boyhood hatred. She already knew that they completely despised each other, especially since James's heroic—frightened— actions, but Bridget still felt like she was missing something important.

She had been so focused on watching James and Snape's exchange that the hand on her elbow surprised her so badly she jumped and almost pulled away. She relaxed a little when she realized that it was only Remus, although she was still staring at him with wide, startled eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said in a soft voice as James and Snape's argument continued. "I didn't mean to scare you. Are you all right?"

"That's okay. I'm fine. Perfectly fine," she said in a rush. It might have been convincing if her voice hadn't hitched halfway through 'perfectly.'

He smiled, looking genuinely pleased that she was unharmed, and tactfully ignoring the obvious fib. "Good. Why don't we get out of their way?"

That was probably a very good idea. The boys couldn't be much further than a couple of feet away from each other. Snape stood firmly, cold and taut, black eyes sharp, calculating as they followed James's languid motions. James, however, seemed relaxed and unhurried, speaking to Snape casually as if he were explaining an easy homework assignment. It was somehow much more intimidating.

"Um, sure." She glanced back as Remus guided her behind James and Sirius. "Is everything okay?"

"With them?" Remus followed her gaze to the other two boys. "They're fine; I wouldn't worry about it. Did Snape do anything to you?"

"Hm?" She tore her eyes away from the distracting duel. "Um, no, not really. He was just… annoying me. Thanks, though, I didn't really fancy bruising my knuckles over him."

"Believe me," Remus responded, chuckling, "it wasn't a problem. Those two have a long standing rivalry."

"Oh." Snape's eyes darted to them and away again. What the—"Watch out!"

Bridget shoved Remus back, into the wall and pressed herself flush against him. There was a whooshing sound as a bright light shot pass her and into the wall at the end of the hall, causing a web of cracks to spread. She pulled back, not noticing either Remus or Sirius's shocked looks, before spinning around to face Snape.

"You've got to be _kidding me!" _she shouted at him, eyes flashing angrily. "Are you trying to _kill _me you _complete_ _idiot?_"

Snape stared at her, mouth slightly open, and she stopped mid-rant. He looked… shocked. He either hadn't expected her reaction or he hadn't known what his spell would do. Bridget frowned, unsure about what to do now that she didn't know whether he'd actually meant to hurt them or not.

Then Snape was hanging upside down in the air, wand in James's hand and Bridget had never been so grateful that boys didn't wear skirts. She chanced a glance at James; he was _pissed._

"That was low even for _you, _Snivellus," he sneered. Once, Bridget had been told that some people were most frightening when they had surpassed the red-hot pissed off stage and became cold and cutting. This was the first time she believed it. "One does not attack a defenseless girl. Still afraid you can't beat me in a fair duel?"

Snape, however, had completely lost grip on his own control. Then again, the situation was jarringly similar to his 'worst memory,' and she doubted he ever wanted to relive that incident. He was practically shaking with rage and every syllable he spoke rang with hate.

"You wouldn't know fair if it bit you in your over-sized—"

_"POTTER!_"

A pretty girl with long, dark red hair strode in from Snape's end of the hallway, and Bridget wondered for the first time why no one had heard the rather loud confrontation. It was possible (likely, even) that no one had wanted to interfere, but this girl looked absolutely furious, her bright green eyes flashing dangerously. She just happened to be glaring at the wrong person.

James nodded at her. "Lily," he said, the overlay of polite formality somehow tainting the familiar greeting. "I just caught Snape here—"

"It doesn't matter _what _he was doing."

Snape dropped to the floor with a dull thump. James looked surprised, his hand suspended where he had been gesturing at Snape, but Lily didn't pay him any attention. Instead, she rushed pass him and straight to Snape, where she fussed over the Slytherin.

She glared at James. "You have _no _right to…"

Bridget closed her eyes. All this excitement and yelling was making her headache return with a mighty—she stumbled forward into Remus, grasping her head as it filled with a blinding pain even worse than before.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Oh. Nothing," she gasped out, talking with lungs that felt like they were being squeezed. "I just feel like my head's about to explo—ah!"

She was gripping Remus's arms so tightly that he was sure to be bruised the next day, but that was the only thing keeping her from making friends with the doubtlessly solid floor. He seemed to realize this as he held her by her elbows, supporting most of her weight, which made her feel a little better.

"Potter, are you even listening to me?"

It would be nice if they stopped arguing, though. The shouting was harming more than helping.

"Not now, Lily."

Thank you, James. Her head felt fuzzy.

_"James!_"

She winced; that decibel wasn't particularly pleasant. It drove the sharp spike of pain into the base of her skull.

"Not _now!_"

Bridget blinked her vision back into focus when she felt herself being shifted over into a different pair of arms. Concerned, hazel eyes stared back at her before her chest suddenly contracted, leaving her gasping like she'd had the wind knocked out of her.

She lurched forward as if someone had really hit her and was clutching his—James's—shoulders in a combined effort to keep herself upright and stem the pain. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realized she could feel his arms circling her waist and was grateful for it. She wasn't sure how long she could stay conscious, let alone standing.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"Head." Bridget gulped in another desperate lungful of air. "Chest. Can't breathe."

"Don't worry. We'll get you to Pomfrey and she'll…"

It was nice that he was concerned. Bridget relaxed her death grip on his poor shirt without really noticing as the edges of her mind blurred. The warmth of his body and the feeling of his arms were become more apparent, as was the soft, comforting tone of his voice, even if she couldn't make out what he was saying. It was good, though. He probably wouldn't let her fall.

And he didn't.

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_**Author's Notes: **_So there's the first chapter. The next chapter is already written, and I'm halfway through chapter three with quite a few ideas for the next few chapters. Therefore, the updates should be regular for a while yet. I'm not sure if I'll be updating every week or every other week, though, it all depends on how much time I have.

Please review if you read it. Reviews make me feel happy, and I am more than ecstatic to get questions and theories.

_**Next time in You've Got to Be Kidding Me:**_

_Her hand covered her mouth in a way she had promised herself she would never do, before fisting itself in her hair once again. "Oh, God, I'm screwed."_

"_Is something wrong?"_

"_Not much," she managed to say around the lump in her throat. How did she manage this? Really, how in the world had she managed this level of catastrophe? It was astonishing. Wait… maybe… maybe this was all a misunderstanding… maybe this was supposed to happen. "If I may, um, ask," she started, her voice strained; this was such an awkward question, "why did you do so?"_


	2. Changing History

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own anything. If I did, the Marauders would not have died; they would have lived long, fruitful lives causing mayhem and chaos, like it was meant to. That never happened, therefore I own nothing._

_**Author's Notes: **_Okay… this is important. If you've read the first chapter of Kidding Me when I first posted it, don't bother reading this one. I just cut that chapter in half (like I had originally done, actually) and there is absolutely _nothing _new. Except, perhaps, a few minor grammatically changes or the like. Nothing else. If you're waiting for the next chapter, it'll come by tomorrow (maybe the day after, but no later than that). However, if this is the first time you've come across this fic, then enjoy.

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Chapter Two

Changing History

"_History never looks like history when you are living through it." –John W. Gardner_

Bridget had been awake for five minutes, but she kept her eyes firmly shut against the light of day (or the artificial light of night, she couldn't be sure which it was). She just didn't want to open them and she wasn't entirely sure why, but it probably had to do with what would greet her when she finally did open them. Before she could talk herself out of it, Bridget came to a quick decision, took a deep breath and opened her eyes.

White. A white ceiling.

Well, that didn't help much. Not at all, really, even her own bedroom had a white ceiling. It was a rather common color.

Bridget realized that she would have to investigate further and sat up, white sheets and a thick white blanket falling back to reveal pajamas she knew she didn't own, although they were quite… striped. With hesitant, cautious moments she pushed the blankets off and looked around.

The room wasn't anything spectacular. It was obviously a hospital room with both the ceiling and the walls painted a clean white color and a medicine cabinet over a sink and counter in the far corner. Oddly, there didn't seem to be the sterilized smell that most hospitals had, at least all of the ones she'd been to. Next to the bed there was a nightstand with an, um, candle on it, the only source of light other than the open window across from her.

It didn't _look _like the Hogwarts she imagined, but it wasn't her room either, nor was it at school, the Bookshop, or any of her friends' houses. And who still used candles?

Still, it didn't really matter _where _she was, there weren't many good reasons to be in a hospital bed, especially if you didn't remember getting in to it, and Bridget knew from experience that just jumping out of bed wasn't necessarily a good idea, so when she began to slide her legs off her actions were deliberate and cautious. She certainly didn't want to faint as soon as she got up.

Well, she didn't faint, at least. She did jump back as if she had been shocked, and fall over the other side of the bed, the blankets she had grasped in a desperate attempt to keep herself on the bed cushioning the landing. Bridget shot back up, ignoring the pain from the bruise blooming on her hip, and peered over to see if _he_ had woken up.

He was the teenage boy currently fast asleep in the chair next to her bed, who hadn't moved at all during her noisy journey to the floor. He also happened to be James Potter. Well, he was someone who looked like, acted like, and seemed to be James Potter. He was even wearing a Gryffindor uniform.

She stared at him.

This could _not _be happening to her; it just _couldn't_ be. The Harry Potter books, as much as she may have wished otherwise, were _fiction, _as were all of its characters. Neither magic nor James Potter existed outside the realm of imagination.

Nevertheless, his fictional existence didn't stop him from sleeping nor did it prevent Albus Dumbledore from walking through the door that _also _shouldn't exist. He spotted James asleep in the chair and waved a hand over the boy. A calming, light blue haze enveloped James before fading away.

"Hello, Miss. Griffins."

She stood up and, grabbing the sheets, sat on the bed. "Hi." The lump of bedding sat between her and Dumbledore in a knotted mass as an awkward silence descended and Bridget wished the sheets weren't so tangled; it was a little cold… and weird. "I'd, um, ask you to sit, but," she glanced at the still sleeping teenager the lone chair and smiled sheepishly up at the headmaster, "it seems to be in use."

"That's perfectly alright Miss. Griffins," he waved his wand over the empty space next to him and a plush purple armchair appeared.

Out of thin air.

She had tried not to squeak, honest to God, but it had appeared out of _thin air. _Poof! Could she _really _be blamed?

"It would be best if we didn't wake Mr. Potter," Dumbledore continued as if she wasn't staring at the chair with open awe and wonder. She shut her mouth. "He had a rather difficult evening."

"So," Bridget chewed on her lip as she tried not to stare openly at James again. She seemed to be doing a lot of staring recently, "that really is James Potter?"

"Who else might he be?" Dumbledore beamed and, God help her, his eyes really _did _twinkle. How was this _possible_? "Mr. Potter and his friends—the Marauders, I believe they call themselves—have been informed of your situation, except for Mr. Pettigrew who is temporarily away, and will help you adjust to this time."

"Help me. . . ? Wait, _I _don't known my situation and how the heck do you know who I am?"

"I was expecting you."

He smiled back benignly while she stared, still trying to process the information. "You were—? I am confused. _Very _confused."

"Your arrival was expected."

Bridget blinked. That didn't really answer any questions. In fact, he had just rearranged the words. Great. "_Right," _she said slowly, drawing out the word as if to emphasis the absurdity of the situation. Perhaps she needed to clarify a bit. "How exactly was I, um, expected? I mean, how'd you know I was coming?"

"Godric informed me of the situation."

"Godric?" she repeated in a bland voice. That still wasn't telling her anything. Good heavens, this man was infuria— hold up. "Godric _Gryffindor?_"

"Yes, of course," Dumbledore replied. "He told me to expect a new student. This student was to be sent from another time with knowledge of but no experience in the magical world. You are quite important."

"Right." Albus Dumbledore, genius or not, was a loon. Completely bonkers. "Did, um, Godric Gryffindor tell you about the Potter book series?"

"No." The man continued to smile at her. He must've lost it. "But, I don't think I need to tell you how important it is to keep your knowledge to yourself. Time is an unpredictable and dangerous thing, Miss Griffins, not something to be trifled with lightly."

She bristled at the unspoken implication. She wasn't an _idiot. _"I think I would be the _only_ person who knows exactly how important that was." Did it really matter if she had learned that fact from fanfiction? It was still valid. "Even if I wanted nothing more than to change everything and save them." Her mouth snapped shut. Crud, she hadn't meant to say that.

He ignored her words. "Wonderful, Miss. Griffins. I'm glad you agree. I trust you'll come to me if a situation should arise."

"Sure. Why not?"

"Godric has provided you with supplies and an account at Gringotts to sustain you while here," Dumbledore said, his voice empty of the warning it had been so heavy with earlier. "The simplest explanation would be for you to have been orphaned. There have been many such incidents recently and we've lost several students when they transferred out."

Bridget gave him an unconvinced look, "Transferring _out _makes some sense, Professor-- Voldemort hates you-- but, even if they realize that it's safer here, why would an _American_ transfer in? Is America even _involved?_"

"Your grandfather was a friend of mine and I was your mother's godfather. They declared me your guardian if something should happen, which it, regrettably, did." Bridget nodded slowly, committing the cover story to memory. "To protect you, they kept your magical origins from you, only revealing it this past year. America is not yet involved, but Americans are and it is only a matter of time until the War crosses the ocean. As she was my goddaughter, it would be believable if they put you into my custody for your protection."

"Okay. I have one question."

"Yes?"

"Do you have these situations prepared beforehand for when stuff like this happens or did you just come up with that off the top of your head?"

Dumbledore smiled. Again. That man smiled way too much; it was unnatural. "I admit I had some warning, Miss. Griffins, but these events do not happen often."

"I would imagine not." She bit her lip, hesitating.

"Do you have another question?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes." Bridget took a deep breath and looked straight into the elderly Headmaster's eyes. She knew he wasn't always entirely truthful, and she wanted an honest answer. "Will I be able to go home?"

She saw the sympathetic look, and, before he spoke, knew she wasn't going to like the answer. "I'm sorry, Miss. Griffins, I don't know."

She couldn't bring herself to respond and, after a moment, Dumbledore stood, the chair he had been sitting on disappearing with a small pop. "I've left a uniform for you and instructed Mr. Potter to give you a tour of Hogwarts after bringing you to dinner, where you'll be Sorted and we'll discuss where you will stay. You will begin classes on Wednesday, but tomorrow Mr. Potter and Mr. Black will bring you to Diagon Alley to get your school supplies and other necessities. I shall see you at dinner."

Bridget didn't notice him leave, nor did she notice James wake up a moment later. She was too busy trying not to freak out.

It was a lot to take in, which is why it's understandable that she didn't hear James ask if she was okay. In fact, she had completely forgotten he was even there until he put a hand on her shoulder, trying to shake her out of whatever state she had wound herself into.

Bridget jerked away from him and overbalanced, tumbling over the side of the bed for the second time that day. This time, however, she didn't have sheets to soften her landing and ended up on her back on the cold, very hard floor.

"Are you okay?" Bridget looked up at him and sat up, rubbing the back of her head.

"I'm fine." She accepted his help up and they stood in a somewhat long, very awkward silence.

"I'm James Potter," he introduced with a half grin that would've looked awkward on anyone less confident. It was a grin that was difficult to resist, and she smiled back.

"I know," Bridget replied immediately. She realized how that must've sounded right after the words left her mouth and wished she didn't blush so easily. "I mean, well," she frowned, "actually that's exactly what I meant. Professor Dumbledore told me earlier and I kinda guessed it. I'm Bridget, Bridget Griffins."

"I know." He grinned again when she gave him a sharp look. She really wasn't up to any mocking right now. "Dumbledore told us last night." She let her frown soften to a smile once she decided he was only teasing and his grin got even bigger. He stuck a hand out. "It's nice to meet you."

"A pleasure," Bridget replied, taking the offer. The door swung open and two boys entered, arguing. Bridget and James stared at them.

"I don't see why Prongs got to miss class. We _all _found her," Sirius pointed out. He dropped into the chair James had spent the night in, lounging in it more gracefully than James had.

Remus sighed. He dumped the books on Sirius's stomach, who grunted and glared at him. "Yes, but _he—_," he caught sight of the two teenagers standing in the middle of the room. "Oh, you're both awake." His eyes darted down to their still-clasped hands and Bridget pulled back.

"We are now," James said, glaring at Sirius.

"You shouldn't fib, Jamie," Sirius replied, wagging a finger at the other boy. "We know you were awake; you're standing in the middle of the room."

"Whatever," James muttered. He put a hand at the small of her back, guiding her forward. "Guys this is Bridget Griffins. He is Remus Lupin," Remus smiled and waved as James pointed him out. James waved a hand in Sirius's direction. "And that idiot is Sirius Black."

"Hey." Sirius looked them up and down, raising a single eyebrow in question. "You sure moved on fast, Prongsie."

Bridget took a large step away from James. The last thing she needed was to stop Harry's bir—oh no.

"I don't want to talk about it, Padfoot," he replied sharply.

"Wait," she held up a hand to stop Sirius's response and turned to James. "Moved on from _what, _exactly?"

"He dumped his nutty girlfriend," Sirius answered for his friend. James scowled at him as Sirius shuddered dramatically. He leaned back in the chair, stretching. "Lily Evans. She never was good for you, mate."

Her mouth dropped open and she didn't even bother closing it. This couldn't be happening to her. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed heavily. This was not good. This was _so _not good. "You, uh," Bridget gestured at James weakly. "Lily." She covered her mouth with her hand in a way she had promised herself she would never do, before fisting it in her hair once again. "Oh, _God, _I'm screwed."

"Is something wrong?"

"Not much," she managed to say around the lump in her throat. How did she manage this? _Really, _how in the _world_ had she managed this level of catastrophe? It was astonishing. Wait… maybe… maybe this was all a misunderstanding… maybe this was _supposed _to happen. "If I may, um, ask," she started. Her voice was strained; this was such an awkward question, "why did you do so?"

"She chose Snivellus over him," Sirius replied. He waved a hand as if dismissing a servant. Remus rolled his eyes. "Good riddance, I say."

"Will you _stop_ talking for me?" James burst out. He turned to speak to her. "What happened was—" he stopped speaking, both his hairline and ears flushing red, "she took Snape's word over mine."

"You broke up," Bridget repeated. This fact needed to be clarified, and if she needed to be blunt about it (and a little nosy), then so be it. This was the fate of the _world_ she was messing up here; there was no room for mistakes or misunderstandings.

James gave her a strange look, "Yes. Lily Evans and I are no longer together romantically and we never will be again. It just didn't work out; there's no trust."

Cracker jacks, there really wasn't any way to misunderstand that.

"She was eating breakfast with him," Sirius added. Bridget flinched; he didn't know it, but his words were just adding salt to the raw and bleeding wound. "The traitor."

Bridget backed up against the wall, needing the support of the solid rocks. At least _they _didn't change. . . oh, wait. This was Hogwarts, even the walls changed. And, apparently, people who irreparably damaged their friendships got second chances. "And they're _friends_." She couldn't believe this was happening. It just— "Oh God." She sank to the ground, ignoring the chill seeping through the thin pajamas as she buried her face in her arms. "_Five_ minutes and I change the course of history. _Five minutes."_

* * *

_**Author's Notes: **_Okay… there was the second chapter. I do hope you enjoyed it. The next chapter will be up either tomorrow or the day after (depending on how I feel after taking my final). Please review… it makes me happy inside.

Thanks to _**Queen of Monkey Magic **_for being my first reviewer, and _**voided **_for putting this on story alert.

_**Next time in You've Got to Be Kidding Me:**_

"_And now it is time for your Sorting."_

"_But, Professor—"_

"_Wait here with Mr. Potter for a moment while I introduce you."_

_Dumbledore walked away, leaving Bridget staring after him. She sighed, rubbing her temples; this whole situation was giving her a headache._

"_There's nothing to worry about," James reassured. He grinned at her when she gave him a tired look. "The Sorting is harmless; everyone goes through it and no one's died yet."_

"_It's not the Sorting I'm really worried about, James," she replied, her voice weary, almost exhausted. "I can't remember doing anything odd or unusual; I don't think I've ever _done _magic."_

_James gazed down at her, momentarily lost, as if he couldn't understand how someone could _not _do magic. "That could be a problem."_

"_No kidding."_


	3. The Headmaster

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing… well nothing that you recognize. I do own Bridget Griffins and any and all original plot and interpretations of the characters and situations presented in the _Harry Potter _series._

**Author's Notes: **Look, I'm on time. Luckily, summer is about to begin and, aside from the little thing I have called a summer job, and, you know, a life, I should be able to write almost full time. Except for a week in June, but we shan't count that. Anyways, here's the chapter. Enjoy.

* * *

Chapter Three: The Headmaster

'_She had an unequalled gift… of squeezing big mistakes into small opportunities.' –Henry James_

Bridget started, jerking away when James knelt down beside her.

"What do you mean?" he asked. Of course he'd want to know; it's not every day someone has a breakdown in front of you, muttering about how she ruined the fate of the world because you ditched your _girlfriend, _especially a girlfriend no one thought you could even get, let alone keep. Too bad she couldn't say a thing about it.

"I—I don't," Bridget smiled apologetically. It would be nice if she could actually answer the poor guy's question; he was trying to be comforting, after all… or he was just incurably curious, which was much more likely now that she thought about it. "I don't think I can tell you, any of you. Not yet, at least. I'm sorry."

"Why can't you?" Yes, the curious aspect seemed to be winning out.

She stood up, smoothing out the wrinkles in her shirt with trembling hands, and ignored the question. "I need to see Dumbledore. Now."

"Why?"

"I _can't tell you,_" Bridget repeated. A desperate tone had crept into her voice as much as she had willed it not to. This was entirely too much pressure. She ran a hand through her hair before tying it back into a messy bun. "I _really_ need to see Dumbledore."

"I don't think that'd be a good idea."

"Why _not, _Remus?" Bridget threw her hands up, resorting to gestures to emphasize her point once again. "Dumbledore _told _me to tell him if I changed anything what-so-ever, and I managed to change one of the very few definite things I _know _about this particular piece of history!"

"I understand," Remus replied. He sounded like he was talking to a deranged person. Actually, he had a nicely toned calm voice, maybe he had practice. "But, perhaps you should change first."

Bridget looked down. She was barefoot and wearing her pajamas. "Right. That'd be a good idea. Where are my clothes?"

"Here," James offered. He held up a bundle of clothes that vaguely resembled a school uniform. They would be horribly wrinkled.

"Toss it over, please." He did so, and she, in turn, tossed the pile on the bed. "Thanks." She grabbed the socks off the top of the pile and began pulling them on. It involved quite a bit of comical hopping and almost crashing into the bed.

"Um, I really am sorry I can't tell you anything right now. Maybe I'll be able to after I talk to Dumbledore." It took her a bit longer to put the shirt on, but she managed without any hopping what-so-ever. "Or not, Dumbledore does tend to be rather secretive, doesn't he?" She looped the plain black tie around her neck and knotted it. "Just one question first." Next, she dropped the skirt over her head 

and buttoned it up, straightening the waistline automatically. There wasn't any reason to bother with tucking her shirt in when she was going to wear a sweater anyways. When she bent down to pull the pants off (thank God for elastic waistbands) she spoke again, "There's really no chance that you and Lily, will, uh, yeah?"

"No." James was giving her a weird look. "Did you just _change_ in front of us?"

"Uh, yeah." She gave him an awkward half-grin and pulled her shoes on. "Special talent of mine. It's kinda a long story. Can we go now?"

"Professor!" Bridget jogged up to the Headmaster, who had been whistling a minuet as the gargoyle shut behind him.

He turned around, completely unsurprised, and gave her that infuriating all-knowing look over his glasses. The wizened look his beard gave him just added fuel to the fire of frustration. "Yes, Miss Griffins?"

Nevertheless, he was one of the greatest wizards of all time, and deserved more than her lashing out at him because she had had an exceptionally bad day. "Um, we have a small problem." She grimaced. "Actually, I'm pretty sure it's a rather big problem."

Dumbledore's gaze sharpened, and Bridget winced. "What sort of problem?"

"You see," she began slowly, "I've been having a few issues with my knowledge of history. There seem to be some events that just don't match up."

"Very well. Let's return to my office." He didn't even have to say the password, the gargoyle was already moving out of the way, scowling at her darkly.

Before they could move further, Sirius spoke, reminding her that the three boys were still there. It also reminded her that there should be a fourth boy, one who was also supposed to be inseparable from his fellow Gryffindors, but who she hadn't seen in the two whole days she had been there. Maybe that was a good thing, though. It gave her time to come to terms with the fact that a two-faced, slimy, traitorous rat would be hanging around and she'd at least have to be _decent_ to him to keep up pretenses.

Bridget wondered absently how long that would last. She was known for being able to keep her temper in check for long periods of time, but she also had a bit of a sore spot for Judases, and that temper, when unleashed, was _scary_. It would not be a good day for Peter Pettigrew when she finally lost it.

"So you just want us to go to dinner and not tell anyone?" Sirius was saying. "About _anything? _What about Peter?"

"It would be best if we waited to inform anyone else. Correct, Miss Griffins?"

Dumbledore turned to her, expectant, and she instinctively shrank back. He couldn't seriously expect _her _to decide how involved they were going to get! This was _his _world, _their _world, not hers, and _he _was the Headmaster, leader of the Light. _She _was just a poor, lost, inno—oh, sod it.

Bridget straightened her shoulders and gave Dumbledore a level look. "Yeah, I'd rather be safe than sorry. But, it does involve them. Sorta. I'm just not really sure how much anymore." Or if you want them to know any of it, remained unspoken, but she had a pretty good feeling the Headmaster got the general idea of the message.

He gave her a piercing look. Bridget understood that she both looked and sounded more than a little frazzled, but she really didn't want to admit that she had probably ruined James's life to the boy's 

face… or the fact that she might just have saved all of their lives. Either way the result was not going to be pretty.

"Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin, I would like you to continue to the Great Hall now." ("Left out _again._" "Shut up, Sirius.") "Mr. Potter may remain here. This shouldn't take very long."

* * *

It was probably taking longer than he had expected, but she _did _have to go through 20-something years of history for several different people. She was saying it as fast as she could without making it completely perplexing. It was hard enough that she had to keep backtracking when she forgot a key point or event, much less keep the libraries full of information stuck in her head coherent for anyone other than her.

"So, you see, by breaking up James and Lily (completely accidentally, I might add, my timing seems to be abhorrent), and allowing Lily to give Snape a second chance I've managed to rob you of your greatest spy, prevented the birth of the Dude-Who-Didn't-Die, and ruined James's future with the love of his life. And I managed to do it in under an hour." She gulped in a deep breath and stared at the Headmaster from under her fringe. "Did you get all that or should I repeat it slower, maybe clearer? I tend to ramble."

Dumbledore leaned forward, sucking thoughtfully on the pink sweet he had chosen halfway through her explanation. He didn't say anything for a while and she lowered her hands back down to her lap. She had an uncontrollable tendency to gesture wildly when excited—or upset.

"You, my dear, must fix your mistake," he finally said.

Bridget opened her mouth. And closed it. This whole situation was ridiculously complicated and now she was gaping like a fish. "You…" she finally said after a few more fish impressions, her voice strangled somewhere in the bottom of her throat, "you want me to _fix _it?"

"Yes. I believe that would be most prudent."

"But," she floundered, continuing the fish theme, "_how?_ I'm not even entirely sure how I messed it all up in the first place."

"Then you've already identified your first step," Dumbledore replied in a voice that would be reassuring if she still wasn't completely stunned and confused. "I'm sure you'll figure out the rest in due time. Godric tells me you're quite the clever girl."

Okay, Bridget hadn't really expected a proper response—this _was _the wise (and frustratingly vague) Albus Dumbledore, after all—but the crazy man was bringing up his very dead predecessor again. Seriously, this had to be a bad sign.

"Now," said Dumbledore, "we should hurry along before Mr. Potter gets bored and decides to explode another suit of armor. Or, perhaps, turn them into cacti."

Bridget trudged after the spritely Headmaster, trying not to do the cliché thing and sigh despondently at her plight. She was already pushing her self-imposed limits by dragging her feet like a disgruntled toddler. As they got farther down the spiral staircase, and closer to the exit, she could hear raised voices, one of which belonged to James. Her day just wasn't getting any better.

"I really don't care what stupid, heroic thing you _thought _you were doing, Potter. There's never a good reason to attack another student, especially four against one."

"Maybe you should tell your precious _Snivellus_ about that, then. After all, _he _was the one—"

"Headmaster!"

The two arguing teenagers spun around to face Dumbledore. Lily was redder than her hair (a feat Bridget wouldn't have imagined was possible) and staring at the Headmaster, probably embarrassed at being caught fighting with her ex by a faculty member, the highest level of faculty, at that. James, however, was staring at his shoes, either trying to control his temper or completely embarrassed.

She'd bet on anger, or she would if she wasn't preoccupied with staunchly ignoring the scene in front of her and concentrating on the wall. If she didn't, she would have to acknowledge that her task seemed to be steadily becoming more and more difficult. As it was, Bridget was contemplating exactly how hard she would have to hit her head against the rock to knock herself out. If she managed to reach the proper level of unconsciousness (or just unconsciousness, really, how many levels could there be?) she might stop hallucinating and return home, or she just wouldn't have to deal with any of it. Either worked.

"Miss Griffins?"

She turned away from the wall. "Huh? I mean, sorry, excuse me?"

"This is our Head Girl," Dumbledore repeated lightly, as if he didn't know that Bridget knew exactly who the girl standing in front of her was, thank you very much, "Lily Evans. If you ever require assistance and your assigned guides are unavailable, I suggest you seek her help."

Bridget nodded.

"It's nice to meet you," Lily said distantly with a slight hint of impatience that Bridget would've never expected from the girl everyone claimed was kind-hearted and warm. Lily looked up at the Headmaster, cutting Bridget off before she could even think of a proper response. "Thank you for granting my request, Professor. I should get to dinner now."

Bridget gaped at her unattractively. She was used to people either disliking or liking her right off the bat, and it wasn't very common for the dislike to last very long. The indifference radiating off the other girl (weren't redhead's supposed to passionate or something of the sort?) was awkward for her to handle and very disconcerting. She wondered, somewhere in the back of her mind, if she should be more worried that she thought _this_ was the weirdest thing to happen to her.

"And it was oh-so-pleasant to meet you as well," Bridget muttered, having recovered from the shock and reverting to her 'I guess they don't like me' reaction of dry sarcasm a few moments too late. Lily was already gone. "I'm sorry if I'm acting a bit odd, but I seem to have developed this peculiar talent of interrupting arguments between people I thought weren't real. So very sorry about that."

She rolled her eyes and noticed both James and Dumbledore giving her odd looks (like Dumbledore had anything to say—he was crazier than she was… she hoped). "Oh, did I say that out loud?" she drawled, the fake concern dripping off her tongue. "Bummers."

The Headmaster gave her a warning look over his spectacles, obviously intending to remind her of the very important job she still had to do.

Bridget really didn't care.

"Dinner has already begun," he said. "We should hurry along."

She and James followed Dumbledore down the hall, staying a few feet behind the man. She started fidgeting with her shirt, wishing that she had pockets or at least something for her hands to play with. In fact, what she really wanted was to go for a run to get rid of all the nervous energy flowing through her body, but she was wearing a skirt, in a completely unfamiliar place, and had a prior (if forced) engagement. The run would have to wait, or not happen at all.

"So," James asked with all the tact of a herd of stampeding rhinoceroses, "what's going on?"

Bridget glanced at Dumbledore—he was quite far ahead of them—and wondered if James had done that on purpose.

"I have to fix what I messed up," she said. She had intended to say "nothing much," but her mouth apparently thought that honesty was the best policy with the messy-haired boy next to her. It was probably right.

"You're going to try to get Lily and me back together, then," he stated, confident. It wasn't even close to being a question (as it very well should have been). The jerk _knew_.

"I wasn't very good at hiding that, was I?"

"No," he smiled at her, "not really." James faced forward again, frowning with his hands stuck in his pockets. "It's not going to happen, you know."

"Yes, I think I might," she replied with all the air of someone discussing a slightly warmer than usual spring. "You both are supposed to be remarkably stubborn. But," Bridget paused, not sure if she really should be telling him this, "you don't know how important it is." She looked down, avoiding his gaze, when he suddenly turned his curious eyes back to her. "I have to try. Besides," she grinned, "Dumbledore told me to, and I'm too exhausted to argue with the loon anymore right now."

They had reached the Headmaster and two great hulking doors before James could respond, although he was obviously itching to. His eyes kept darting to her and he was rocking back and forth slightly on his heels. She was really just waiting for him to start whistling before pulling her off into some alcove to demand the truth.

"And now," Dumbledore said as if he was announcing something to the entire school rather than the two disenchanted teenagers standing in front of him, "it is time for your Sorting."

"How wonderful." Bridget looked up at the huge, carved doors and felt something cold and unpleasant drop in her stomach. "But, Professor—"

Dumbledore didn't seem to hear her. "Wait here with Mr. Potter while I introduce you."

And, with that, he walked away, leaving Bridget staring after him. She sighed, rubbing her temples; this whole situation was giving her a terrible headache.

"There's nothing to worry about," James reassured. He grinned confidently at her when she gave him a tired look, positively beaming. "The Sorting's harmless; everyone goes through it and no one's died yet."

"That was a spectacular way to make it sound somewhat dangerous and intriguing without actually lying. I know the Sorting is done by a telepathic, talking, singing _hat._" She sighed when he looked disappointed, a little upset with herself for being such a smart-mouth. He really was only trying to help her.

"It's not the Sorting I'm worried about, James," she said, her voice weary, drained. "I can't remember ever doing anything odd or unusual. I don't think I've ever _done _magic."

James gazed down at her, momentarily lost, as if he couldn't understand how someone could _not _do magic. He probably couldn't, not really. He had grown up in this world, and Muggles were likely to be as foreign a concept to him as someone not hearing about the Harry Potter books was to her.

"That could be a problem."

"No kidding."

* * *

**Author's Notes (again): **So… there was the chapter. Obviously, the Sorting will be in the next chapter, and something exciting and possibly violent will happen the chapter after that. I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed/put the story on alert in the first chapter once again and shamelessly beg for reviews for this chapter. Until next time…

_**Next chapter of **_**You've Got to Be Kidding Me: **

_Bridget stared at him, mouth open. "He said _what?"

"_Evans decided she wanted to return to the Gryffindor dormitory, so you're getting her room." James shrugged. "It's supposed to make it easier for us to help you catch up." She continued to stand next to the portrait silently, shoulders drooping. "I told you it wasn't going to be easy. I won't date her again."_

_He held the newly formed door open for her, leaning on it with all the casual elegance of someone born into money and power, which, she supposed, he was. He was also charming, intelligent, and handsome, especially when he was grinning like he was right now, hazel eyes positively sparkling with amusement under the fringe of his messy black hair._

_Now _why _didn't Lily Evans want to date him, again?_

"_Are you coming in or going to stare in wonder at my blinding good-looks all night?"_

_Bridget sighed, completely unsurprised, and pushed pass him. _That _was why._

**First Posted: **5/06/08

**Last Edited:** 7/11/08


	4. Between Us

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing… well nothing that you recognize. I do own Bridget Griffins and any and all original plot and interpretations of the characters and situations presented in the _Harry Potter _series._

_**Author's Notes: **_I'm _late. _I'm so sorry. Well, there shall be no further wait… here's the long-overdue chapter.

* * *

Chapter Four: Between Us

"_As any change must begin somewhere, it is the single individual who will experience it and carry it out." -Carl Jung_

Bridget tried to look out at the Great Hall, but McGonagall had shoved the Sorting Hat on her head hard, forcing her bangs flat, and she couldn't see much more than the bottom of the dark auburn locks. It was very quiet, though, almost unnaturally so in the Hogwarts equivalent of a high school cafeteria, and she was getting impatient.

It was taking entirely too long for the Hat to recognize that she was all Muggle and tell Dumbledore off. In front of the entire school. She bit her lip; this was so going to suck.

_Quite the opposite, actually, _a voice said in her ear, startling her so badly she almost fell over. In the nick of time, she remembered that there wasn't anyone talking to her exactly, just a hat reading her mind. . . right. Because that was so much better.

"Wait," she whispered, unable to bring herself to _think _at an animate inanimate object. "Are you trying to tell me that I'm _not_ a Muggle?"

_Yes. Your ancestry is completely wizarding._

Bridget frowned. "I'm not even Muggle_born_?"

_Correct,_ the Hat murmured. Before she could question it further, a sharp pain shot through her head. She could feel more than see memories and thoughts flashing through her mind and it was making her dizzy. _I apologize. It is more challenging to Sort older students, and the methods I use must be more. . . intrusive._

"Yeah, sure, fine. Can we get to the point, then?" She shifted on the stool. "This isn't the most comfortable of seats and my head hurts."

_Very well. _The Hat hummed, reminding Bridget of relatives who would look her up and down, sizing her up and appraising her worthiness. It wasn't a feeling she enjoyed.

_You would do well in Slytherin._

"What? No, I wouldn't," Bridget said, rather shocked at the implication. "I'd get annoyed with the lot and try to hurt someone. Besides, if I got Sorted there I have a nagging suspicion James and Sirius would disapprove."

_You are extremely loyal to those you care about,_ it continued, ignoring her comment.

"I just _met _them."

_And intelligent._

"I dunno, I've done some pretty stupid things, just ask my mother."

_But, I'm afraid there's only one place for you._

Bridget's eye's widened. She'd gotten distracted and now— "Don't you dare put me in Slytherin you—"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"I will tear you apart at the seams and no amount of thread or magic will ever be able to put— Gryffindor? Did you say Gryffindor?"

_Yes, Miss Griffins, now take your seat._

* * *

"I hate people," Bridget said blandly.

Dinner had ended over an hour ago, but Sirius had insisted that she be given a tour of the castle despite her own proclamations that she wasn't going to remember a dang thing they showed her. In addition to trying to remember the layout of a constantly changing castle, new students seemed to, unfortunately, be an anomaly at Hogwarts, especially foreign new students. She hadn't been left alone since dinner had ended, and had been introduced to person after person after person after—

Sirius threw an arm around her shoulders. "But they seem to love you. Which is why I've decided that _you _are worthy of _my _friendship."

"Gee." Bridget rolled her eyes, but she could feel her lips twitching as she tried not to smile. "I feel so very honored."

"As you should." He nodded solemnly. "But, you don't need to worry any longer."

"It _was _tearing me up inside," she drawled.

He ignored her. "You have friends now."

"What a relief, because between the whole finding out fiction is actually reality thing, and getting assigned my new mission—don't ask, I won't tell—I've been oh-so-troubled about making friends." Bridget stopped walking, ducking when Sirius didn't and his arm went over her head. She straightened up again. "Speaking of friends, where's Peter?"

"You know about Peter?" Remus asked. The three boys were looking at her like she had declared Snape the supreme ruler of the world.

"Um, yes. I thought we had gone over the whole from the future thing. Did Dumbledore forget to mention that I know who all of you are?"

"Yes, he did."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out."

"That's all right," James said. He was the first to recover and he smiled at her. "Peter is at his great-aunt's funeral. He should be back by dinner tomorrow."

"Speaking of tomorrow, some of us need to attend class in the morning," Remus said. "Sirius and I should go."

"Why?" Sirius whined. "_I _don't have class."

"We know," James drawled, smirking at his best friend. Sirius glared at him, but was interrupted by Remus.

"You still have to accompany Bridget to Diagon Alley tomorrow."

"Oh all right," he grumbled, sending one last glare at the still-grinning James. The other boy looked entirely too pleased with his pun and Sirius crossed his arms over his chest, pouting. Remus ignored him.

"I'm sorry I won't be able to go as well," he said to her. "My mother's ill and I'll be leaving after lunch to visit her."

"Oh, that's okay, Remus," she responded. He looked rather ill himself; it must be worrying him a lo—wait.

Bridget peered around him, and out the open window into the night sky. High in the inky darkness hung the bright, round moon. If she hadn't know it was impossible, Bridget would've said it was full. She looked back at Remus, who was staring down at her, concerned about her odd behavior.

"Uh… Remus?" she said hesitantly.

"Yes?"

She looked around. Even though it was after curfew, that didn't mean that there weren't students around and she wanted to make sure that they were really alone. She turned back to Remus, voice at a whisper. "I know."

"You… know?" He frowned at her. "You know what?"

He looked very confused and Bridget flushed bright red. Right… that wasn't very clear, was it? "I—good heavens, this is difficult—I know about your, um, condition." Bridget smiled apologetically when he paled dramatically and stumbled away from her, looking horrified. "I'm sorry!" she blurted out, still a charming shade of crimson. "I'm really bad at this sort of thing and I thought it be easier if I just told you.

"Then again, I have this tendency to talk without really thinking it all through, especially when I'm stressed or tired or completely and utterly confused like I've been lately. I mean—please stop me whenever you want to or I'm going to just keep talking and talk—"

"How…" Some color had returned, but Remus's voice was quiet. He took a deep breath and continued speaking in a stronger voice. "How do you know?"

"Third book," she replied instantly. "It's kinda hard to misinterpret it when someone says 'He's a werewolf!' and the person responds, well, pretty much the same way you just did, actually." She smiled weakly. "Isn't that funny?"

She clears her throat, ignoring the way both Sirius and James tensed when she stepped closer to Remus. The boy jumped when she put a hand on his arm, eyes darting around as if he was looking for the best path of escape.

"Right, so maybe it's not that funny, but I'm cool with it. Really. Well," she frowned, brow furrowing, "as cool with it as I can be when someone I think well of goes through something that is not only incredibly painful and identity-crisis inducing, but socially unaccepted and misunderstood on a monthly basis. So, I'm pretty much saying right on and I won't tell anyone."

"You won't?" He looked unbelievably hopeful, like he couldn't possibly understand why she would do that. Bridget frowned, Remus shouldn't have to worry about something as silly as that. He was kind and intelligent and, probably, very powerful. He _should _be worrying about what he was going to do with his life because he had too many choices, not too few. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No. No, you didn't. It's just you shouldn't—you shouldn't have to deal with all this crap about lycanthropy. It's ridiculous."

Remus smiled at her, and when he spoke she got the distinct impression that he had had this conversation many times before. Probably with James and/or Sirius. "I'm a monster." There was acceptance in his voice, and, somehow, that made it so much worse.

"Once a freaking month," Bridget replied firmly. "That's it. You shouldn't be punished the rest of the bloody time, especially if you take precautions to keep yourself and others safe." She took a deep breath, calming herself before she continued speaking. "Never mind what I say, I've never been someone who can tolerate prejudice.

"You know, I'm not really supposed to say anything about what I know, but I'm going to anyways. I never was all too great at following rules." She shrugged and forced him to look her in the eye. "People where I'm from love you, and they know about your furry little problem. You're a great guy, Remus. Besides, half of the world wishes you had been one of their teachers. You're spectacular at it."

"I was a teacher?"

"Yup. A good one, too. Now, no more questions. You have class tomorrow and I have to go shopping." She wrinkled her nose, tactfully ignoring how Remus was practically glowing with the new information. "Ugh. I hate shopping."

When he didn't move, she sighed and pulled him towards Sirius. "Right, now you make sure he doesn't walk into a wall or something and I'll see you tomorrow. Okay, Sirius?"

"Sure."

Bridget watched the two boys leave, feeling a sense of satisfaction. She had done something good, even if she wasn't supposed to, and it wasn't going to change anything. At least not any more so than she had already managed to do.

"That was a nice thing to do."

"I only told the truth. I wish I had had a teacher like him. Then again, after the ones I've had, it can really only go up."

"My Defense professor tried to kill us in fifth year," James said, voice flat.

"Been there, done that. Except it was my Algebra II teacher."

There was a short pause. "What's Algebra?"

"A mathematics class, but that doesn't matter. So, now what?"

"Now I show you where you're supposed to sleep," he said, dropping an arm around her shoulders and guiding her in the opposite direction of Gryffindor Tower, which was a little odd as she was a Gryffindor.

"Oh. That's nice of you."

They walked in silence for a while. She looked around her in interest, taking in as much of Hogwarts as she could. As much as she had hated the tour, it was only because of the forced socializing; Bridget was completely in love with the castle. It was old, full of history, of the hopes and dreams and lives of so many people for such a long time.

She wasn't used to that. Hawai'i had it's own history and life, but it was in nature, not anything man-made, not really. They had nothing this spectacular. Besides, she'd dreamed of Hogwarts since she was nine. It was wonderful to actually _be there._ Well, here, she supposed.

"Um, so where am I staying?"

"Dumbledore told me you were going to stay in the Head dorms, Evans's old room."

James stopped in front of a landscape painting of a forest. It was large, about as big as a dresser, with large trees dusted with snow, branches swaying in the wind, surrounding a clear, blue lake. It was beautiful, but she had no idea why in the world he had spent the last minute staring at it.

"Oh come on," he said suddenly, sounding irate. "She'll be living here from now on, so you'd best get used to seeing her."

A figure flitted out from behind one of the trees, hovering in front of the disgruntled James. It was a fairy. That was, really, the only explanation. She was small with shimmery blue wings fluttering behind her, barely noticeable if it hadn't been for the disparity in the area. She was also very beautiful, in a feral sort of way, with pale, glowing (yes, actually glowing) skin, big, bright blue eyes, and long waves of coal black hair.

"Animus prius vita."

The landscape opened, revealing a hole in the wall about the same size that slowly widened to the size of a large door. On the opposite side of the painting was, well, another painting. The same one, actually, or a mirror copy of it. And the fairy was looking curiously at both James and her. Bridget felt like she was being judged. Harshly.

"She's the new resident," James told the fairy. "I'm sure Evans told you she was moving out. Dumbledore approved, rather vocally, too. He said it would be a good way to get to know each other."

The fairy nodded and flew closer to Bridget, examining her even more thoroughly than before. She nodded and said, in a soft melodious voice that reminded Bridget of softly flowing streams, "I'm Ashlynn."

"Uh, I'm Bridget. Nice to meet you." Then she processed everything that James had said and where she was going to be living. Bridget stared at him, mouth open. "He said _what_?"

"Evans decided she wanted to return to the Gryffindor dormitory, so you're getting her room." James shrugged. "It's supposed to make it easier for us to help you catch up." She continued to stand next to the painting silently, shoulders drooping. "I told you it wasn't going to be easy. I won't date her again."

He held the newly formed door open for her, leaning on it with all the casual elegance of someone born into money and power, which, she supposed, he was. He was also charming, intelligent, and handsome, especially when he was grinning like he was right now, hazel eyes positively sparkling with amusement under the fringe of his messy black hair.

Now _why_ didn't Lily Evans want to date him, again?

"Are you coming in or going to stare in wonder at my blinding good-looks all night?"

Bridget sighed, completely unsurprised, and pushed pass him. _That_ was why.

* * *

Bridget peered over the back of the couch and saw James leaning over a slightly worn-out pf parchment, frowning as he attempted to write something.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He started, cursing when he saw that his hand had slipped, drawing a ragged line that spread onto the table. She plopped down next to him. Knowing that she would be unable to sleep with all the excitment, she had been browsing the shelves full of books at the far end of the common room, nearest her new room. A half-hour later she was bored. Which, really, was far from a new experience for her.

"Transfiguration essay."

She gave him a skeptical look as he folded the parchment up with practiced precision and tucked it into the pages of his book. His Arithmancy book. James really needed to work on his on-the-spot lying; Bridget suspected that he usually depended on Remus for that or relied on his charm to get him out of scrapes.

"Your Transfiguration essay looks awfully like a map and an Arithmancy textbook."

"Yes," he was, however, quite good at looking nonchalant, "well, it, uh, is?"

His lying still sucked. How in the world did he manage to keep _anything _to himself? Before he could do much of anything, she leaned over and pulled the parchment from his book. He hadn't even managed to put it in all the way. She fell back onto the couch, sitting sideways with her back against the armrest, and opened it up.

"Brilliant." Her tone bordered on pure reverent adoration and she would've hated the fact if it had been in front of anyone but him.

The parchment was a little bigger than the average open textbook, but had somehow managed to hold the entirety of Hogwarts on its surface without looking crowded. Bridget suspected it had something to do with the fact that whenever she looked at a spot it seemed to broaden to a comfortable size.

"I, uh, it's a project for Transfiguration," James attempted weakly. Well, she supposed, it really wasn't all that weak, but she already knew what she was holding and his excuse wasn't strong enough to cover up for it.

"Don't bother, love, I already know about the Marauders' Map."

"You… do?"

"Yup. I knew about Remus, how does this really surprise you?" Bridget looked up from the Map. "What were you doing to it?"

"I was fixing the spellwork, but that managed to erase some of the map."

"Oh." She squinted and looked at the part he was obviously repairing critically. "Your handwriting is a bit… illegible."

"How do you know that's my handwriting?"

Bridget lowered the Map just enough to peer skeptically over it at James. "Because the majority _is _legible."

"Right. Remus drew most of it and labeled it," he said. "I did the spellwork."

"And Peter and Sirius brought the snacks?"

"Yeah." He sounded amused. "But they also did most of the legwork."

This was when she, quite embarrassingly, forgot something important and more than a little obvious. She had been examining the area on the edge of the Forbidden Forest and in the middle of saying, "It really is quite amaz—" when she decided to get a little more comfortable… and almost fell right off the couch.

As if that wasn't horrifying enough, James saw that she had overbalanced and tried to help. His reflexes, as speculated by the majority of the Potter fandom, really were abnormally good. That is, Bridget suspected, how she ended up in her current predicament, with her legs wrapped around his waist, essentially sitting on his lap, and pressed against him in a way that was distinctly… blush-causing.

James had reached out, caught her by the wrist, and pulled her away from the danger of bashing her head against the floor. Unfortunately, the dance lessons her mother had forced her to take since childhood had kicked in. Instead of ending up in an embarrassing tangle of limbs when James overestimated his strength, her body followed through with the ending of a particularly raunchy number, and they ended up in a, well, embarrassing tangle of limbs that just happened to be more 'nudge-nudge-wink-wink' than 'ow… pain.'

Bridget sat there, feeling more and more awkward as the seconds ticked by (chronicled by the unnaturally loud clock above the fireplace) and tried to convince her face not to turn red when she realized something that, quite possibly, made everything worse.

"You were holding an inkwell, weren't you?" she asked in a voice that, she thought, sounded quite collected considering the circumstances.

"Yeah."

"You don't happen to know where that ended up, do you?"

James grinned apologetically. "I think it's between us."

"Right," she sighed. That was a logical explanation for the sudden, uncomfortable wetness on her stomach. "Um, I don't really, uh, know how to get up."

He didn't move, just kept sitting there with his arms fastened securely around her waist, making it even more unlikely that she'd be able to get off on her own. At least she'd managed to remove her own arms from his neck, even if they had only moved to his shoulders.

"James?"

"Yes?"

"I'd like to get up now."

"Why?"

She rolled her eyes. "_James." _Bridget saw the way he grinned and before he could respond with the ever-so-original '_Bridget,'_ said, "Help me up."

"Of course."

And, without so much as a warning, James stood up and she _just _managed to not yelp. Goodness gracious, he was a lot stronger than she thought.

"Now you have to let go of me."

He sounded terribly amused, which made Bridget want to smack him. Regrettably, that would mean that she'd have to remove her face from his shoulder and pry her arms from their death grip around his neck, which she wasn't too keen on right now. But she'd also have to do that to get down, which she was keen on. Really… she was.

She unlocked her legs from around his waist and straightened them out, feeling comforted when he put his hands on her waist (James _was _a good six inches or so taller than her) and slowly lowered her to the ground.

"Please don't do that again," she said in a voice that she was proud to say was calm and even a little annoyed.

"So I should just let you fall?" he, on the other hand, sounded entirely

"Yes, please—oh, my _clothes."_ Bridget held out her skirt. "I'm all covered in ink."

She sighed and draped herself over the couch again. James sat next to her, his own white shirt ruined by the black ink, although his trousers had been spared from the carnage.

"Maybe we should get changed."

"I would," she replied with another sigh. "Except I don't have any other clothes."

"You don't?"

"Nope. I don't even know where the clothes I came in are. Where did they go? And I had a backpack, well, a messenger bag and a duffle bag full of bo—um, James?"

Bridget frowned, looking around the now empty common room. Where had that boy gone? And how the heck had he moved so _fast?_ It was freakish. Oh well, she'd just wait here.

"Here you go."

She stared at him, then at the clothes he was holding out to her. "What?"

"You can borrow these tonight and I'll get you a uniform tomorrow. Evans should have something that could fit you."

Wow. That was really sweet. "Thank-you."

"You can change here if you want."

And he kills it.

* * *

_**Author's Notes: **_Okay, that was a really hard chapter to write and I have no idea why. Perhaps it's because so much happened in it. Anyways, thanks for reading it and please, please review.

Thanks to _**texaskid, D1024**_, and _**voided**_ for putting this on Story Alert, and to _**Queen of Monkey Magic**_ for reviewing.

_**Next Chapter:**_

_The speaker was a tall, thin woman with long thick black hair and a face that was beautiful in a harsh, dark way that reminded Bridget of the Gothic castles in old Dracula and Frankenstein movies . It was odd, but she looked kinda familiar._

"_I see you've rid yourself of the Mudblood."_

_James's grip on her waist tightened, but when he spoke his voice was calm and level._

"_Good afternoon, Madam Lestrange." Bridget stiffened. No wonder she looked familiar that evil, murderous bi—"Bridget, this is Bellatrix Lestrange."_


	5. Gryffindor Blood Traitors

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing… well nothing that you recognize. I do own Bridget Griffins and any and all original plot and interpretations of the characters and situations presented in the _Harry Potter _series._

**Author's Notes: **Look, I'm… late. But, I do have the next chapter ready for next week. Aren't you all proud? Okay, fine… so I'm not the most constant of folks, but I do try. Anyways, here's the chapter. Have fun.

* * *

Chapter Five: Gryffindor Blood Traitors

"_Every sweet has its sorrow; every evil its good." –Ralph Waldo Emerson_

Bridget stretched, arching her back and taking as deep of a breath as she could manage before curling back into a ball. It was early morning, school-day early, too, that time in the wee hours when the sun was still dawning and she spent her time half-asleep, praying that school would be cancelled for some reason or another.

In the same part of her mind that wished for horrible blizzards on a tropical island, she knew that she should probably get up, but the bed was soft and warm from a night spent tucked under the covers and she wanted to savor the feeling as long as she could. But, when voices softly floated in from the common room, she finally decided that it was time to give in to the inevitable. Bridget pushed the blankets and slid her legs off the bed, touching her feet to the cold floor as slowly as she could.

It took her a while to remember everything that had occurred the night before (probably because of denial), but she was already halfway to the bathroom when it happened. Due to her absent-minded clumsiness, she had no clothes other than what she was already wearing, which technically belonged to James. Grumbling, she made an about-face and opened the door, leaning out into the common room.

"Sorry, James, but did you find me—oh dear."

Bridget overbalanced and stumbled fully into the room, revealing her attire, or lack thereof.

Sirius wasn't the other person with James, like she had thought. Nope. Why would she be lucky enough to have a boy who would obviously take her state of dress the wrong way see it? It wasn't even Lily, who would've made everything so much more difficult. Actually, Bridget had never seen this woman before, so she really couldn't be sure exactly _how _bad things had just gotten.

She was beautiful, though, even if she looked to be in her early fifties or so. A little taller than Bridget herself was, and slender, the woman radiated grace and good-breeding with everything from her posture to her well-tailored, Victorian-influenced robes. The corners of her dark blue eyes and full, pink lips had fine lines, laugh lines, and her thick, black hair was streaked with gray, which had been the only signs of age.

"Bridget," James said after what seemed like hours (it was probably only a few seconds, he didn't seem very embarrassed), "this is my mother, Katherine Potter. Mum, this is Bridget Griffins."

Oh, God. It was his _mother. _ This was horrible.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Bridget said, automatically responding to the introduction when all she wanted was to sneak unnoticed back into the bedroom.

Unlikely.

"The pleasure is entirely mine." Mrs. Potter smiled gently at Bridget before turning sharply to her son, her lips in a stern, straight line strangely reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. "What were you _thinking_, James? I know that your father and I raised a better son than this."

Bridget blinked. What?

"What?" James asked. He sounded just as confused as Bridget felt, but Mrs. Potter was having none of that.

"Taking advantage of a girl who is not only adjusting to a new life in a new world, but is entrusted to your care? James Nathaniel Potter, I am very disappointed in you. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Take advantage of her? How would he—oh. _Oh._

James seemed to get what his mother was implying at the same moment Bridget did, and the two flushed bright red in unison. Admittedly, the evidence was in Mrs. Potter's favor.

Bridget had just left a bedroom, still half asleep, looking for James. Her hair was a mess, hanging over her shoulders and back in tangles and she wasn't wearing much: a too-big dress shirt that obviously belonged to someone of the male persuasion, and boxer shorts that were rolled up to fit better, which, combined with her knee-high school socks, didn't cover a lot of leg.

Crud.

"Mrs. Potter?" Bridget said, hoping that she wouldn't incur the older woman's, um, disappointment. "James didn't—" Her face was burning, she was sure she had _never_ blushed this hard before. She cleared her throat. "I mean, he never, uh, took advantage of me."

Bridget chanced a look at James. Although he was no longer blushing, he did not look happy.

"Oh my dear," Mrs. Potter said kindly. Crackers, her declaration hadn't done much to convince the woman, "I'm sure it didn't seem that way," (_"Mother!"_) "but Potter men tend to be extremely charming."

"Uh, right," this was getting worse by the minute, "I'm sure that's true, but we haven't, um, slept together. He just lent me clothes to sleep in because I don't have any and we had an incident with an inkwell."

James's mother gave him a stern look. He returned with one of his own. Bridget saw the family resemblance. It was all in the stubborn attitudes. And the hair.

"Really, Mrs. Potter," she repeated, still bright red. "James has been nothing but a gentleman since I got here."

"Yeah, Mum. It's not like she would let me do anything, anyways. She's trying to get me back with Lily."

Mrs. Potter looked surprised. "Lily Evans? That charming red-haired girl? Whatever happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Mum."

While they were having this invigorating conversation about James's love life, Bridget stared at James, shocked (although, in retrospect, she shouldn't have been). He was standing, arms folded across his chest, with a stern frown on his face. He was, for all intensive purposes, pouting.

Because he couldn't get in her pants.

That _jerk._

"James," she said, not realizing that she had interrupted the mother-son moment (which had turned to the state of his hair—apparently a Potter trait—and the twelve detentions he'd wrangled—also something that he seemed to inherit from his father) until after she had done so. Nevertheless, this was important. "You can't go around _telling _people."

"Why not?"

Why_ not? _Why did he think it was _okay _to do that? For the love of God, her life didn't need to be any more difficult than it already was. He was so frustrating.

"Because even if _you _figured it out, no one else is supposed to know. And I don't need it to be any harder than it's already going to be."

"I still don't understand why it's so important."

"Which would be because I didn't _tell you_!"

"Why not? It's _my _life!"

"Suffice to say the fate of the world hangs in the balance. So, even if I don't _want _it to happen, it has to." She didn't want him to die, after all. She didn't want any of them to die.

James grinned and she jerked back, noticing for the first time that they had stepped closer to each other during the brief argument.

"Don't _want_ it to happen?" he repeated, carefully forming each syllable as he said it.

"That—" Oh crud. "That came out a lot more suggestive than I had intended."

James took a step closer, looking every bit like he was relishing the red staining her cheeks (she was positive it was going to become permanent with the amount of blushing she'd done recently). Bridget was suddenly very aware of how little she was actually wearing and the warmth she could feel from his body, only a couple of inches away from her own.

Life was so unfair.

"James," his mother called, looking exasperated, but amused. "Be nice."

He grinned at her one last time before backing away a step. "Yes, Mum."

"Now," she said. Mrs. Potter was definitely a woman who knew how to keep boys like James (and Sirius, most likely) in check. "Did you get Bridget a spare uniform?"

"Um…"

"It's no matter now, James. I brought along robes; it would be best if you didn't wear your Hogwarts robes, either, or your Muggle clothing. We don't want to attract too much attention."

The door banged open.

"Sirius has," dramatic pause, "arrived!"

"Right, Mum," James drawled. "Not too much attention."

* * *

Bridget stared at her reflection. She had never been very fond of dresses, forever a tomboy, but even she'd admit that she looked pretty good in the burgundy and cream set Mrs. Potter had brought for her.

The skirt fell to about three inches below her knee and was fuller than she was used to, but, strangely, not any heavier than the skirts she wore at home and her blouse was a fitted, cream, button-up shirt, emphasizing the curve of her waist as it flared out into her hips. The robes that went over the whole thing were slightly longer than the skirt with sleeves that flared out at her elbows. She also had to wear a pointed witch's hat on top of her pulled back auburn waves.

The whole thing, along with the cream button-up boots and gloves (which, she had been assured, she only had to have, not wear), gave her a very 40's look. She liked it, and, at the very least, it was more up-to-date than Mrs. Potter's Victorian one.

"You look beautiful, dear," Mrs. Potter said. She smoothed out Bridget's waistline. "I'm sorry it can't be more modern but it's best to stay with Wizarding fashions at Diagon Alley when school's in session."

"That's okay. This has always been more my style than 70's Muggle clothes. Although, I'm afraid I'll always prefer my t-shirts and jeans. A girl straight out of the millennium. Sad, but true."

"What do you mean?"

Bridget turned away from the mirror to look at the older woman. "I'm, um, from the future. 2007, to be exact. My parents haven't even met yet. I'm not to be born for, I dunno, a little over ten years."

"That does explain quite a bit," Mrs. Potter said after a few moments that Bridget spent trying to decide whether it had been stupid of her to tell James's mother. "Now, why don't we see what the boys think?"

* * *

The boys seemed to think well of the outfit. At least, that's what she had gathered from their reaction of staring, open-mouthed until she was bright red (yet again) and Mrs. Potter had cleared her throat to get their attention. It did make sense, though. She wasn't half bad looking when cleaned up and they had only seen her completely stressed out after a long day, or in pajamas. It was bound to be a bit of a shock.

They had looked pretty good, too, in suspendered dress pants and button-up shirts under open vests. With the way they were holding their robes and the fedora-type hats they were wearing they looked rather like detectives from old-fashioned detective movies, and Bridget had to stop herself from laughing. Then Sirius sat on the desk and flicked the rim of his hat and she couldn't help but giggle.

Sirius looked pleased that he had gotten a reaction, even if he didn't know the reason.

"Right," he said, grinning widely. "So, is everyone ready to go now?"

* * *

"He was creepy," Bridget said, frowning as she attempted to find somewhere in her robes to put her new wand.

She couldn't believe that in all that fabric there were no pockets. None. It was insane. And her arm ached from all that stupid wand-waving.

"Here." James reached for the wand but stopped short, his hand hovering over the handle. Bridget gave him an odd look. "May I?"

"Um, yeah." She flipped it over, placing the handle in his open palm. "Sure."

"Most wizarding robes have a pocket in the sleeves for the wand." James gently took her right wrist and turned it over, before sliding the wand into it. He gave her a crooked grin. "You know, most people don't like having other handle their wands. It's a sign of trust when you do."

"Yes, well, even if you can be a huge jerk, deep down inside, sometimes very deep down, you are a good guy and, strange as it may sound, I do trust you." Her lips quirked into a smile and she looked up at him again. "Except with Slytherins and other such matters in which you are hopelessly biased. In that case I'll probably turn to someone else. That person will most likely be Remus."

Bridget cocked her head to the side and took a step forward, carefully straightening his tie and flattening his collar. It was a task she was used to performing for her brothers and male friends and something she had done without thinking. Just as reflexively, she looked up, a teasing smile on her face, to make a smart mouthed comment.

The smile slid off and the comment died somewhere between her brain and voice box. James was looking down at her with an expression that she recognized all too well. This was not—wait.

Bridget frowned, waving her arm in front of her face and watching the loose, dark red fabric swish back and forth unheeded. She pulled the sleeve taut and squinted into the dark cavern. The _empty_, dark cavern.

"What are you doing?" he asked. He sounded fondly amused, but she ignored that.

"What happened to my wand?"

"It's in a pocket," replied James proudly. "A pocket of space created with magic."

Bridget blinked. "Huh?"

"A pocket," he repeated slowly, "of space."

When her expression didn't change, James held out his arm and flicked his wrist sharply. His wand slid smoothly into his open hand as she watched, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. Immediately, she flicked her own wrist, imitating him as closely as she could manage and almost squealing with delight when her wand appeared.

"Oh my God, that is so _cool._"

Bridget looked up, practically beaming with excitement to see a very… unhappy James? That was odd. Then again, he wasn't looking at her. He was looking over her head, frowning at whatever was there. He slid his arm around her waist, confusing the girl even more. He looked very stoic, very serious, very adult, very not-James, at least not the James she had seen so far.

"James, what are you—?"

"Just play along, please." Did he just say _please?_ Who the hell was he and where had James gone? "If we're lucky we'll dodge a Bludger."

"Okay. That's ominous, yet I find the Wizarding phraseology amusing."

He ignored her comment, instead leading her onto the main street of Diagon Alley. James abruptly pulled her to the side, almost causing her to stumble, and stared into Madam Malkin's shop window, like they were trying to decide whether or not to go in. It was a bit odd, to say the lea—

"Well, if it isn't the baby Potter," a cruel voice said from behind them. "Dumbledore let you out for good behavior?"

James scowled at the window before plastering a polite smile on his face and turning around, bringing Bridget with him.

The speaker was a tall, thin woman with long thick black hair and a face that was beautiful in an unforgiving, sinister way that reminded Bridget of the Gothic castles in old Dracula and Frankenstein movies. It was odd, but she looked kinda familiar.

"I see you've rid yourself of the Mudblood."

James's grip on her waist tightened, but when he spoke his voice was calm and level.

"Good afternoon, Madam Lestrange." Bridget stiffened. No wonder she looked familiar that evil, murderous bi— "Bridget, this is Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Nice to meet you," Bridget said, letting the words drip off her tongue with minimal disdain. Actually, she was just proud that she had managed to not punch the older witch.

"Lestrange, this is Bridget Griffins."

There was a flicker of recognition in Bellatrix's narrowed black eyes, which Bridget quickly decided could, in no way, be a good thing. Bellatrix quickly recovered, scowling darkly.

"It is never a pleasure to interact with Gryffindor blood traitors," she sneered.

Oh, wow. How original was that?

"As fun as this reunion has been," James said, "Bridget and I really must be going. I'll tell Sirius you sent your disregards."

"We'll see each other again soon, Potter, you can count on it." She smiled at Bridget, more baring her teeth than anything else. "You as well, Griffins."

Without another word, Bellatrix turned and continued down the alley. James turned her in the opposite direction and led her away.

Bridget was proud of how she handled the situation. At the very least, she didn't run from the psychotic woman or try to kill her, which she had so terribly wanted to do. After all, Bellatrix had destroyed Neville's parents and killed Sirius among so much else. When they got a store's length away from her, James flicked his wrist and drew out his wand. Bridget stared; she couldn't get over how so very cool that was.

"We need to find Mum and Sirius," he said, speeding up and attracting the bulk of her attention once again. "Lestrange was wearing Death Eater robes."

She stopped walking, pulling James to a halt.

"_What?" _she said. "Are you kidding me? Death Eaters?"

"Oh good, you know what they are."

How the hell was that a good thing? Bridget frowned, but James was far too busy doing his Gryffindor hero thing. She pulled him to the side when she noticed that people were giving them odd looks.

"James, are you sure? I know Sirius's dear cousin is a crazy, torture-loving bitch, but if there was an attack, would she really reveal herself to someone so obviously—crap, you're right."

"How do you know about Lestrange?"

"I can't tell you and, honestly, I wouldn't want you to know this one. I know enough to want the woman, if she can be called that, dead and that she's formidable when she's completely lost her mind. She's relatively sane now; therefore, I am screwed. How'd she know my name?"

There was a giggle somewhere around their legs and they both looked down. A little boy of about five was staring up at them. He was cute, with big, blue eyes, a face full of freckles, and a shock of bright red hair. Bridget frowned, it couldn't be…

"Charlie? Charles David Weasley!" a shrill, panicked voice called.

The little boy huddled closer to James, who looked absolutely terrified of the little kid. He must not have much experience with children. Bridget knelt down, attempting to keep her skirt at an appropriate length.

"Charlie?" she asked in a soft voice. She didn't want to scare the kid—he was adorable. "Is that your mum calling you?"

"Mummy's mad."

"Hm… I think she's just a little worried about where you wandered off to. You could meet some scary people when you're not with your mum or dad."

He smiled up at her, all innocence and trust, and Bridget felt her heart melt. "You're not scary. And he's a Potter."

"Aren't you a smart, big boy?" Charles beamed up at her and she held out her arms, picking him up when he deemed her safe. "Now, why don't we find your mum? I think she went off to go look for you."

"Okay."

"Come along, James," she commanded. "We'll find Mrs. Weasley, then your mum." Bridget smiled at Charlie. "He lost his mummy, too."

"He did?"

"Yes, he did. See, even big boys need their mummies sometimes. Is that yours?"

Mrs. Weasley was very pretty, all deadly curves and bright, curly red hair. Aside from the red hair the only thing that identified her was the two other boys she had: a child no older than a year and a boy who looked about seven or eight. Bill and Percy.

"Charles! Oh, there you are," she said, rushing over when she saw them. "Why'd you run off from Mummy?" She turned to Bridget, almost in tears from relief. "Oh, thank you so very much. I was so worried."

"That's alright, Mrs. Weasley. He's a darling."

Bridget handed him over to the woman, who had handed Percy off to Bill and was now fussing over Charlie. When she deemed the boy unharmed, she turned to Bridget, smiling brightly. "Thank you again. If I may, what is your name?"

"Bridget Griffins, and this is James Potter." Mrs. Weasley's eyes widened; she seemed to recognize the name. Bridget smiled gently at her. "I hate to be worrisome, but James and I just saw someone who is—how should I say this?—a little less than reputable. I've heard wonderful things about your family and I wouldn't want anything to happen. It's always better to be safe than sorry."

Mrs. Weasley looked between James and Bridget and seemed to deem them both trustworthy (James's Potter name probably helped quite a bit). She picked Charlie up. "William, we're going home. I need you to carry Percy for me."

"Yes, Mum."

She took one last look at the two teenagers. "Thank you for the warning. If you ever… need anything, don't hesitate to owl me. We're at the Burrow and my husband, Arthur, is at the Ministry."

Bridget watched them hurry off towards the Leaky Cauldron, and took James's hand again. "I'm sorry, I needed to make sure they were safe. The Weasleys are trustworthy and important."

James gave her a long look, and nodded. "I understand." He started dragging her away again. "Draw your wand. If anything happens stay close to me, point your wand at anyone in black and yell _Stupefy._"

Bridget nodded, barely having time to get a good grip before she was thrown to the ground and the world exploded around her.

* * *

_**Author's Notes: **_How was that? I'm actually quite proud of this one, especially the Bellatrix and Weasley meetings. Isn't Charlie a sweetie-pie?

Thanks to _**Coquettish**_ for the review. Please read and review this time; it'll help with the next chapter.

**Next time on **_**You've Got to Be Kidding Me:**_

"_That is the girl, my Lord." Bellatrix was to his right, her grin feral and unmasked._

_"You have done well, Bella," Voldemort said. His voice was silky and beguiling, but grated against Bridget like the cries of a man dying painfully. "Welcome to Diagon Alley, Miss Griffins."_

_His eyes roamed over her appraisingly and Bridget fought the instinct to hide, or at least cover herself. She refused to give him the satisfaction. He made an appreciative sound and James and Sirius stepped in front of her. Voldemort smiled, his teeth white and square and so very human it made the alterations that much worse._

_"And accompanied by young Masters Potter and Black. Commendable choices, they may yet prove useful."_

_"Go to Hell," Sirius growled, voice low and angry._

_Voldemort chuckled. "I plan on staying _here_ for a very long time," he said. "Forever." _


	6. Common Sense and First Aide

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing… well nothing that you recognize. I do own Bridget Griffins and any and all original plot and interpretations of the characters and situations presented in the _Harry Potter _series._

**Author's Notes: **I'm on time! Wow, that's new, isn't it? Well, no other notes, so, enjoy.

* * *

Chapter Six: Common Sense and First Aide

"_Both heaven and hell are within us." –Mohandas K. Gandhi_

Bridget curled her arms around her head as debris fell. She felt a heavy weight settled across her back and it took her a moment to realize that James had done exactly what any Gryffindor boy would be expected to do: he was shielding her as best as he could with his own body. Who said chivalry was dead?

The crumbling sounds of falling rocks and chunks of wood faded to be replaced with loud shouts and terrified screams. James stood up, pulling her along with him and setting her on her feet before she could do so much as blink.

It was horrible. The building across the street no longer had a door. Instead, the front had exploded out, like the top of a party popper. She could just make out a group of people in black before James pushed her behind him.

"Stay close."

She nodded, but realized that he couldn't to see her. She took his hand and muttered, "Of course."

He pulled her down the street in the opposite direction of the Death Eaters. Bridget stumbled along behind him, wishing she had her Converses on instead of these stupid boots and trying not to trip over the rubble.

James swore and stopped abruptly, almost causing her to run straight into his back. She tried to look around him, but he seemed determined to stop her from doing so, keeping her pressed against his back with one arm. He was silent and tense and that was scarier than whatever he was hiding from her.

"Hello, Potter," a memorable voice crooned mockingly. "Didn't I say we were going to see each other soon?"

Bridget froze. Oh, crap. Right, so maybe he was hiding her from the crazy woman, not the other way around.

"Too soon," James growled. He backed away from Bellatrix slowly, with measured, cautious steps. "Shouldn't you be wearing a mask, Bella? You always did have trouble with being subtle."

"The Dark Lord wished me to show my true colors to you, Potter. You and your new friend. He will be pleased."

Wonderful. All she needed was a happy Voldemort to top off her spectacular week.

Bridget spotted Madam Malkin's with its wide-open door, hanging like a page half torn out of a book. She twisted out of James's grasp and grabbed his hand again, pulling him with her into the building.

It was a mess with robes strewn about, furniture toppled over, and a faint burnt stench lingering in the air. The building looked completely different from its pristine state just that morning, but Bridget had spent hours in there with Mrs. Potter and knew that there was another exit—there! She darted through the door and slammed it shut behind her, barring it with a broomstick.

James made a strangled noise she ignored and turned to the right. Bridget pulled him in the opposite direction. "No, go left. Instinct will tell them to go right."

There was a thud behind them and they ran.

* * *

They had escaped the panicking crowds and were creeping along silently, listening for voices or footsteps as they got closer to Gringotts. She wasn't sure if this was the wisest thing to do, running towards the chaos instead of trying to leave through the Leaky Cauldron, but it was unexpected and James had reassured her that his family had an exit plan with the Gringotts goblins.

There were perks to being an old, rich, pureblood family, it seemed.

There was a sharp jerk and she couldn't see. There was an arm around her middle, the same one that had pulled her away from James and light, and a hand over her mouth. For the first time, she actually felt the sharp stab of fear.

Bridget slammed her head back into the front of her kidnapper's face and elbowed him in the gut when his grip on her waist loosened. He dropped her and she fell to the ground, straightening up immediately and pressing her wand to his throat like it was a dagger, which was more muscle memory than anything else.

"Don't move or I'll—Sirius?" She pulled her wand away and took a step back, into James, who had apparently followed her into the alley and seemed just as shocked as she was. "What the hell was that?"

"Didn't want you to scream."

He pulled his hand back from his face and there was blood on it. She felt a twinge of guilt that she quickly squashed. He _had_ just_ kidnapped _her, after all.

"She you just _grabbed_ me?" she asked. "I don't scream."

"I've realized that."

"That was stupid, Padfoot," James said.

Sirius glared at him. "Really? Thanks, Prongs. _That_ I hadn't realized." He touched his nose gingerly again. "I think you broke it."

"What?" She had done no such thing, he could still talk normally, after all. "Oh, come here." When he didn't move, she sighed and stepped out of James's arms. "We don't have time for this. _Episkey._"

Sirius frowned down at her, wiping the blood off of his face. "How'd you know that?"

"Books. I read. A lot," she replied shortly, a little afraid that he'd ask for details. After all, she couldn't tell him that she'd learned it from the _Harry Potter _books.

"Sirius, where's my mum?"

Bridget turned to James. In the dim light he looked pale and wide-eyed, voice full of worry.

"She's fine," Sirius replied. "I pushed her in the Floo before I went looking for you."

"Oh." He looked painfully relieved for a moment before his shoulders tensed again. "Let's—"

He froze, looking around cautiously. Sirius reacted at almost the exact same time, shoulders taut and eyes sharp. Bridget could sense it, too: the air had changed. It was pulsing with an energy that was almost electric, although that was impossible with the amount of magic in the air.

Then she felt it.

Sirius had pulled her, and, consequently, James back into the main street. It was dusk now, at least 45 minutes after the attack had begun and it was quiet. Too quiet for a violent attack or its aftermath, even the dust seemed to be silent in anticipation.

Bridget turned around slowly. They were there, just like she had expected, but hoped was a product her overactive imagination. Standing in an orderly group, dressed in uniform black robes and plain white masks stood the Death Eaters. Front and center was Voldemort and Bridget felt fear run through her body with the abruptness of an electric shock.

He was terrifying and unnatural, every cell of her body seemed revolted that this abomination of nature even existed. He was tall and bald with skin tinted an unnatural pale green. Thinner than any normal, healthy human being could be, he moved like he was made of liquid and air, only held together through sheer force of will. Worse of all were his eyes, narrowed and blood red with no whites and only slits for irises, like a cat or reptile.

Bridget wanted to throw up. Every sense was telling her that—that this _thing _should not be.

"That is the girl, my Lord." Bellatrix was to his right, unmasked, her grin feral.

"You have done well, Bella," Voldemort said. His voice was silky and beguiling, but grated against Bridget like the cries of a man dying painfully. "Welcome to Diagon Alley, Miss Griffins."

His eyes roamed over her appraisingly and Bridget fought the instinct to hide, or at least cover herself. She refused to give him the satisfaction. He made an appreciative sound and James and Sirius stepped in front of her, working in unison. Voldemort smiled, his teeth white and square and so very human it made the alterations that much worse.

"And accompanied by young Masters Potter and Black. Commendable choices, they may yet prove useful."

"Go to Hell," Sirius growled, voice low and angry.

Voldemort chuckled. "I plan on staying _here_ for a very long time," he said. "Forever." He made a sharp motion with one long-fingered hand. "I can see we will not get very far today. Incapacitate. I want all three alive and relatively unharmed."

Ten masked Death Eaters stepped forward, surrounding them in a loose circle.

If asked later, Bridget wouldn't be able to say what had happened. Her senses had been overloaded with lights and sounds and her body and mouth seemed to be working on their own, moving instinctually and pulling spells from the deepest parts of memory. She just knew that when the Aurors came she had not been hit with anything and the boys were still standing.

Dumbledore Apparated in between them and Voldemort. "It's over, Tom."

Voldemort scowled, grabbed Bellatrix's arm and pressed a finger to it.

"It's not nearly _over, _Dumbledore," he sneered and was gone.

* * *

Bridget instructed the man to hold the cloth tightly against the wound and rushed off to find the next injury to tend to. James trailed behind her, performing the simple healing spells he knew when she asked. There were too many wounded (and dead, but she never let her mind linger on that) and too few Healers, so she was doing her best to help with her basic Muggle first aide and his even more basic magical knowledge.

Forty minutes later she was on her knees in the middle of the blackened, smoking ice cream parlor. She counted off the breaths in her head before straightening out to perform the necessary compressions, watching James splint the compound fracture warily. He had seen her do it once and she'd shown him how she'd managed it, but the wound was bleeding heavily and it was worrying.

He finished tying the knot and stood, watching, hovering protectively over both of them like a prowling cat as she bent down to do the breaths again. He seemed anxious, tapping his blood drenched fingers against his pants leg with one hand and fiddling with his wand with the other.

He probably wasn't used to having to sit and let other people do the work, and Bridget would've welcomed the assistance, if he had known how. This was not the sort of thing you should teach on the field. She was so going to teach James CPR and anything else she knew as soon as they got out of this mess.

She was just worrying about how long it was going to take this woman's husband to find someone to help (CPR wasn't supposed to go on this long—not without a pulse) when he ran in, followed closely by two women. The Healers rushed up to Bridget and the woman—Victoria?—and started muttering spells, wands out.

Bridget dropped her arms, relieved that someone else was taking over. James pulled her away and she let him without muttering the nearest hint of resistance. Her arms felt weak and shaky from the regular compressions and she was pretty sure she couldn't stand on her own.

It wasn't long before the woman who seemed to be in charge directed the other Healer to take Victoria and her husband to St. Mungo's. She was breathing and finally stable.

"Now I'm to assume that you're our mysterious Healer?" the woman asked, a tired smile on her face. She came to a halt, her entire face freezing in horror and her pale green eyes on James. "James? Why aren't you in school? Is…?"

"Remus is at school. Sirius and I came at Dumbledore's request," James said. "Sirius is somewhere helping to clean up. He's fine, too."

Her shoulders relaxed a little and she frowned at Bridget. "I'm sorry. I don't believe we've met before, I'm Remus's mother. Are you Lily Evans?"

"Um, no. It's Bridget Griffins; I'm new."

"Oh." Mrs. Lupin gave James a surprised look that she didn't seem to expect Bridget to notice. Tactfully, Bridget pretended not to. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you. You've saved many lives."

She felt her face heat up. "Common sense and basic first aide, although it probably would've been easier if I had a triage to send people to."

"I'm sorry?"

Mrs. Lupin was frowning, looking politely confused. Bridget stopped rubbing the life back into her arms at once.

"First aide?" she said hesitantly. "Triage?" There was no reaction. "It's general knowledge of what to do in case of sudden injury or sickness—open wounds, fractures, burns, concussions, choking…" Bridget blinked, realizing why James had followed her lead and the Healers were so thinly spread. "But, of course, you wouldn't need that with magical, almost instantaneous healing. That'd explain the lack of triage, too.

"It's when doctors or nurses prioritize injuries based on severity: those that can wait for treatment, those that need immediate help, and the dead or hopeless. You don't need to fix everything right away: a broken bone can wait for a few hours, but someone bleeding out cannot." She stopped talking. "Sorry, I'm lecturing. You're, you know, trained and everything."

"No," Mrs. Lupin said, "that sounds very intriguing. Perhaps I could speak with you at a better time?"

"Sure."

"Now let's get you healed." Mrs. Lupin pulled her wand out. "Where does it hurt?"

"I think I sprained my wrist and my ribs hurt, so there's probably a nasty bruise there."

The woman waved her wand over Bridget's head and tutted at whatever she had seen. With two swift pokes, Mrs. Lupin prodded her wrist and torso. Bridget gasped when something wrenched in her chest.

"You were right about the wrist, but you cracked a rib and bruised your lung. Easily remedied, I'll tell Katherine what potion to give you this evening, but take it easy until then."

Bridget nodded her assent, rubbing her side gently.

* * *

Mrs. Lupin had also told them to find Sirius and go back to the Potter estate, but (not surprisingly) both boys had refused to leave the bookshop owner to clean everything up on his own. One of the Death Eaters had made performing magic on the merchandise impossible and no one with enough power had had the time to figure out how to undo it.

But, Bridget didn't mind staying to help, if she had been _allowed _to. James had been adamant against her even picking books up and, after telling Sirius what Mrs. Lupin had said, had gotten the other boy's full support. That was why she was sitting on the cashier desk, pouting, although she wouldn't admit that part to anyone, and cursing the fact that chivalry apparently wasn't as dead as everyone said.

The bell at the door rang, one of the few things that hadn't been obliterated in the attack, and Bridget looked up. Two men were picking their way through the upturned tables and scattered books. One stopped to straightened a dangerously leaning bookshelf, but the one in the front, a middle-aged wizard with straight, dark hair that was parted neatly down the middle and a perfectly kept toothbrush mustache, marched straight up to her, scowling around at the mess like it had personally offended him.

"Where is James Potter?" he asked briskly.

He didn't seem very happy about the situation, and was glowering down at her like he had expected nothing less than her soot-covered, slightly bloody state. Unfortunately, she had been having a very bad day and wasn't about to blindly give information out to a man she knew nothing of, even if, _especially,_ if he acted like he had every right to know what he wanted to.

"Somewhere in the store," she answered shortly. "Why do you need him?"

"Now, listen to me, Miss…"

He gave her a sharp, pointed look and she smiled back sweetly. "Griffins."

"Miss Griffins, I am—"

"Barty, give the child a break, we've all had a difficult day."

The second man had finished his task and caught up to his colleague. He was much more approachable than the other man, with untidy gray hair and a crooked grin that made him seem younger than he probably was. He fixed stern, hazel eyes on the other man.

"I can take care of it from here," he said.

"With all due respect, sir, you are not impartial in this case."

The man raised a single eyebrow. "Are you suggesting that I cannot be trusted, Bartemius?"

"Of course not," he responded, already ramrod posture seeming to get even more rigid.

"Or that James has something to hide?"

"No, sir."

"Then leave us be. I will interview them. Then they will be allowed to return to Hogwarts."

"Yes, Mr. Potter." He gave the man a stiff nod and strode out of the bookstore.

Bridget rolled her eyes, then realized what he had said. "Oh," she straightened up, eyes wide as they surveyed the man. "You're James's father?"

"Yes," he said. He gave her another grin, and suddenly Bridget could see the strong resemblance James had to his father. "Now do you know where I can find my wayward boy?"

"Not particularly, he said they were going to the back." She frowned thoughtfully, crossing one leg over the other and tapping her chin. "I'll come with you."

* * *

James was, indeed, in the back with Sirius. The two boys were putting a rather large (growling) book on the top shelf. It took a moment to wrestle it into the proper place, especially with the bookstore keeper hovering and just generally getting in the way.

"Mate, are you sure you're okay?" Sirius asked warily, watching as James winced bringing his arms back down.

"I'm fine," he replied. James looked up and saw them standing there. "Hey dad." His eyes rested on her and he sighed. "Bridget, you're supposed to be resting."

"I'm perfectly fine. 'Sides, I've had worse than that; it was only a sprain."

"And a cracked rib," he added, not looking one bit amused.

"The last time I _broke_ my rib and I actually managed to puncture a lung, _and _I was on a hike, so I had to _hike_ two miles back to civilization with one properly functioning lung and two other injured people with me. A bruised rib is nothing."

"She sounds like you, Prongs." Both James and Bridget glared at Sirius for interrupting. He held up his hands, smirking. "Thought I'd break the sexual tension up. It'd be easier on us all if you just snogged; that's what life and death situation survivals are for."

"Snogging?" Bridget deadpanned. "You don't die so you have to make out with whoever you didn't die _with?"_

Sirius held up a single finger. "Unless you don't find him or her attractive."

"Right…" She sighed. "You have issues, Sirius."

"I mean, if you don't want to do it with James, I'm always open to the idea."

The was a polite cough from behind her, and an amused voice said, "Sirius, I really don't think this is the time."

"There is always time for snogging, Mr. P," Sirius replied solemnly.

"I need to speak with you, James, and Miss Griffins before we send you back to school. If you'll come with me we'll get this over quickly."

Bridget glanced over at James, realizing that he had been awfully quiet since Sirius's declaration. Her eyes widened and she took note of how pale he looked a moment before he dropped to the ground, unconscious.

There was a sudden, stunned second of silence before chaos broke out. Mr. Potter was yelling at the store owner to get some help and both Sirius and Bridget had rushed to James. Bridget was just turning him onto his back when Sirius mentioned that he had been having chest pains.

She pulled his shirt out of his pants and pushed it up, eventually unbuttoning it with a practiced ease that came with daily use. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw what was under it and she realized that she couldn't do a thing.

* * *

_**Author's Notes: **_Yes, well, there's the end of the chapter. I hope everyone enjoyed it and that I didn't disappoint anyone too much with my lack of ability in writing action. I really am bad at it. Anyways, hopefully the next chapter will be up in a week's time and, since it's already written, I have high hopes for my actually managing it.

Thanks to _**Saffygirl**_ for reviewing (my favorite form of awesome-ness), fav'ing and putting _**Kidding Me **_on story alert. Also thanks to _**RyujiIshida **_for fav'ing and putting it on story alert and _**mandita **_for putting it on story alert.

Please, please review. It really does help me update faster because the guilt of letting people down is stronger with more reviews.

_**Next time:**_

_Voldemort stepped forward, just as revolting now as he was in harsh reality._

"_You Potters," he began, hissing out the word harsher than he had said 'Mudblood,' "have been a nuisance for far too long."_

_His red eyes glinted with some sudden, private amusement, and his grin widened, taking on a sharp edge as he stepped even closer to the couple. They continued to stand tall and proud, refusing to cower before this monster, the man still covering her, shielding her with every ounce of strength left in his body. Voldemort looked down at them, frowning._

"_You had the chance to be great. You were pure, strong, proud, and you threw it all away for Muggles and Mudbloods. A waste."_

_He called out, "__Avada Kedavra__," words sharp and painful, and the world went green._


	7. That Hurt

_**Disclaimer: **__Really now, do you think _I _own anything? If I did, none of the Marauders would have died. They would have lived long, fruitful lives causing panic and mass chaos, like it was meant to be._

_**Author's Notes: **_I'm so sorry about the wait. I (stupidly) did NaNoWriMo and didn't have time to update. On the up side, I'm so sick and tired of my original fic and I got quite a few badly timed brainstorms that I'll be concentrating solely on my fanfics for a while.

Anyone reading _**When Reality Fades, **_should be happy to note that there will be an update tomorrow.

* * *

Chapter Seven: That Hurt

"_There are some temptations which are so strong that they must be virtues." –Charles Baudelaire_

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was so stupid. I should've seen that he was wincing and I should've made him let me look, and, oh God—"

Mrs. Potter wrapped Bridget into a tight hug, smoothing the distraught girl's hair and murmuring in a calm, soothing voice, "It's okay, love. His father's the same way. It would take longer than two days for you to recognize the signs."

Bridget felt her heart slow down and the panicked tears fade away. She was exhausted and the huge bruise on James's chest, the one that had screamed internal bleeding and broken ribs had scared her more than she'd like to admit. Although, really, it was rather obvious.

Mrs. Potter pulled back. "There now, dear. Feel better?" Bridget nodded, still rather shell-shocked. "I'm just glad that you're all okay," Mrs. Potter continued. "After what Sirius told me... that was very dangerous."

"Sorry."

"Bridget, stop apologizing, you did nothing wrong. Now Sarah is sending Jamie home. He'll be fine by the tomorrow, but we have to give the Blood Replenishing Potion time to work as well as the one for you. You and Sirius will, of course, join us at the Manor."

"Right."

The woman from earlier—Remus's mum—walked in, juggling a few bottles.

"Now, Katherine, James needs to take these every 4 hours," she said, handing the bottles over. "Sirius already side-along Apparated him to the Manor."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Lupin, but what was wrong? I mean the bruising implied extensive damage, possibly internal bleeding or broken ri—" Bridget stopped speaking abruptly, flushing red. The two women were staring at her. "I'm sorry. I babble sometimes."

"Are you considering becoming a Healer, Miss Griffins?"

"Please, it's just Bridget and, um, no, not me. I was just a curious and injury-prone child."

Mrs. Lupin nodded absent-mindedly. "Very well, this is for you." She handed Bridget a small, green vial. "Take it as soon as you Floo to the Manor, it might make you drowsy."

"Fine." Bridget examined the vial with a frown. "God, I hate medicine." She looked up at Mrs. Potter. "It probably will make me drowsy; most medications that warn of it knock me clean out."

* * *

Potter Manor was amazing. The grounds were huge and a lush, rich green, with thick trees surrounding an open field and what looked like a full-size Quidditch pitch. The Manor itself was just as impressive, huge, but warm with wide, open windows. Somehow, it reminded her of the Bookstore.

Bridget knocked softly on James's door, and opened it with deliberate caution. Mrs. Potter had sent her off an hour ago, giving her (and Snitch the House Elf) strict instructions to bathe, change out of her blood-soaked clothes, and eat. She had completed all her tasks and ignored all of Snitch's pleas to go to bed, determined to make James's mother do the same (with little hope of success).

"Sirius?" she whispered, eyes wide with surprise. Instead of the sight she had expected, Bridget found Sirius sitting up next to the bed, looking disheveled (at least he'd changed) and tired. "Where did Mrs. Potter go?"

"She went to bed," he replied shortly.

Bridget frowned. "How'd you get her to do that?"

"Sleeping draught in her tea." He glanced at the clock and his gray eyes followed her as she sat in the empty chair next to him. "You can go to bed, too."

"No," Bridget said. "I won't be able to sleep anyways, and I have a nice new book to read. Besides, it's not even dark yet."

She shook her head, smiling to herself, as she curled up in the chair and attempted to balance the open book on her knees. After finishing the chapter, she looked up, stretching her neck. That's odd. Sirius seemed really anxious. His eyes drifted over to the clock every few seconds and he was tapping his fingers against the armrest.

"Um, Sirius, is everything okay?"

He turned sharply. "Fine. Everything's fine."

"Are you sure?" Bridget asked again, frowning. "It's just that it seems like you're waiting for something. I dunno, it's just a little—oh my God, Remus! Peter can't control him by himself."

"You know about that, too?" said Sirius, wryly. His mouth was curved up into an amused grin. "I'm not even surprised anymore."

She smiled briefly. "Don't worry; there's plenty I don't know. Oh, poor Remus. Is there anything you can do?"

"No. Unless…" Sirius gave her a searching look. "Do you think you could stay up with James?"

"Of course. There's an alarm to remind me when to give him the potion and everything."

Sirius smiled weakly, stretching his long limbs that were probably sore from sitting in the chair. "I'll be back soon after dawn." He hesitated at the door. "Seriously, just go. I'll be fine."

* * *

She wondered for the first time how long it would take to set Diagon Alley right. They did have magic, but the street had been demolished. Half of the buildings looked like they were too delicate to breath near, let alone touch, and there were still fires burning despite the late hour.

Then Bridget saw them and realized that this wasn't possible. Diagon Alley had been cleared of Death Eater activity well before they had left that afternoon. Also, last she could remember she'd been at James's house.

The man reminded her of James. He had the same tall, thin build and messy hair, although it was gray instead of black. She'd already met him, of course, but it was the way he was spread protectively in front of the woman that made her sure that he was James's father. Even if she hadn't been able to see it, Bridget was positive that was what James had looked like that afternoon, with her.

In fact, the entire scene was eerily similar to what she had already gone through earlier in the day, with different players. Voldemort stepped forward, his person—if it could be called that—just as revolting in this strange vision as it was in reality.

"You Potters have been a thorn in my side far too long," he hissed, red eyes glinting with malicious enjoyment. "My only regret is not being able to finish the entire family at once." He grinned. "But, I shall reunite young James with you in due time. _Avada Kedavra._"

* * *

Bridget woke with a start, cursing any sort of medication that caused sleepiness. She could still see the limp bodies and glassy, staring eyes. She closed her own eyes, forcing herself to remember every detail, going over everything she had seen slowly and carefully, so she didn't miss a thing.

Oh, _crap._

She'd changed the past again, and this time she didn't give a damn what Dumbledore said, she wasn't going to fix it. There was no way she _could _fix it, at least in a way that would keep her morals anywhere close to intact. Bridget wasn't going to mention this, to anyone. James deserved to have his parents.

"Are you okay?"

Bridget straightened up quickly, her book crashing to the floor because of her sudden motions. She stared at James with wide eyes, heart pounding. After that weird… dream, or whatever, he had startled her.

"Don't _do _that," she said. Then she noticed that he was sitting in the chair Sirius had commandeered. "What are you doing? You're not supposed to be out of bed! Go!"

James blinked. "What?"

"Get up! Back to bed." Bridget stood up, turning to retrieve his potion, and the other medical supplies. "Besides, I have to change your dressings."

When she turned back around, brandishing the potion bottles in one hand and a roll of bandages in the other, James was sitting happily on the bed. He had already shed his shirt and was grinning like an idiot. She sighed.

"God, James, stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" he asked, still smiling stupidly. "You're a much better nursemaid than Pomfrey or Sirius."

"Thank-you," Bridget replied. "And that's very, um, sweet, I think, but you hit your head really hard."

"I've been thinking," he said after gulping down the potion.

It took her a moment to realize he was waiting for a response (his bandages were tied very tightly and it was taking up the bulk of her attention). "Dangerous words from you."

"That's what Remus says." He ran a hand through his hair and Bridget stopped trying to untangle the bandage-knot. She didn't know him very well, but it was well documented that running his hand through his hair was a nervous habit, especially when James was trying _not _to look nervous. "Anyways, you seem to believe that you caused me to break up with Lily."

"Believe?" she scoffed. "I know I did."

James nodded, and grinned cheekily up at her. "So, you should replace her."

"_What?_" Bridget gaped openly at him, hands frozen where they had been untying the knot. Her mouth was in a shocked 'o' as her brain tried to process what he had just said. "Did you just ask me out?"

"Yes."

"That is the _worst _proposal I have _ever _gotten."

"I do need a date to Hogsmeade."

"No! Ugh, you are so arrogant." Bridget rolled her eyes. "You didn't even really ask me, James, you dictated that I should replace your last girlfriend, whom I am attempting to get you to date again. Besides, I refuse to be anyone's rebound, even yours."

Without waiting for a response, and feeling a little annoyed, she put her fingers under the top of the bandages, pulled it towards her (ignoring his grimace), and started to cut them away. She inhaled sharply when they fell away, completely forgetting her frustration.

"Oh, James," she murmured. The bruise seemed smaller than it had been earlier and was that ugly yellow-brown color that meant it was healing. She wanted to wince just from looking at it. "Well, I suppose it's better."

He looked down, still frowning, and hissed when he poked gently at it. Bridget swatted his hand away.

"Don't _poke _at it!"

"That hurt," James said, pouting.

"Of course it did. You can't tell me you haven't gotten a bruise this bad before. You play Quidditch. With huge, iron _things_ that try to kill you."

"I'm usually unconscious when I get healed."

Bridget paused, unsure how she should respond to that. Instead, she didn't say anything, just handed James the second potion Mrs. Lupin had explained to her, Sirius, and Mrs. Potter. He seemed to know what she meant for him to do, unscrewing the top and holding it out for her. It was then that she realized what exactly was required of her, and flushed bright red.

She stuck her fingers in the substance, and scooped some out. Still blushing, she instructed him to turn around, cringing at the similar bruise on his back, and settled herself behind him. Bridget spread the goop on her hands, and carefully started applying it, pulling away when she felt his shoulder muscles tighten.

"I'm sorry. Did that hurt?"

"No," he responded, rolling his shoulders. "It's just… cold."

"Oh, sorry." She bit her lip nervously. "Tell me if it hurts."

Bridget finished up and stood, motioning for him to turn around. He did so, and she scooped out more of the potion, spreading it liberally across the bruise and trying, unsuccessfully, to ignore where she was touching. Her face was burning.

"Are you all fixed up?" James asked after a moment.

"Yeah. I'm actually a little healthier than I was before." He gave her a confused look. "I have asthma, and your little stunt, on top of the whole D.E. attack, triggered a stress-induced asthma attack. Remus's mum actually fixed some of the damage I had from previous attacks, although she can't do anything about the asthma itself."

"Sorry." James lifted his arms to give her better access, and Bridget frowned, attempting to figure out how to wrap the bandages around his torso without embarrassing herself further. Kneeling was probably her best bet, although it would still put her in an awkward position.

"Not your fault," she said, tying off the knot. "I've had it since I was six or so. It's not even that bad. I could play sports and everything."

He stopped her hands were they were nervously smoothing down the bandages. Bridget looked up automatically, eyes locking with his and felt her face slowly turn red. This would be a lot easier if he didn't switch from nice, decent James to Potter the jackass so often or quickly. It was starting to make her head spin, at least that's why she was telling herself she felt light-headed.

"No," he said. "I'm sorry I worried you, I'm sorry your first visit into the Wizarding World was like that, and I'm especially sorry you got hurt."

"It's okay. I've been hurt worse before, and you didn't mean to worry me. Also, I already knew about all that: Death Eaters, Voldemort, and the like. Besides, everything was pretty cool up to the point where Sirius's crazy cousin tried to filet us; it's not the first time someone's tried to kill me."

Bridget tried to smile, but failed, only managing a small quirk of the lips.

"Still…" he trailed off, the hand not still holding hers to his, um, chest, reaching up to cup her cheek. For a split second she had the absurd idea that James was going to kiss her—he was certainly leaning in like that was his intention—then she came to her senses and turned her eyes down and away from his, pulling her hands out from under his much larger one. Her face flushed red again and his hand felt refreshingly cool against her—she stood up.

"Thank you for your concern." She settled back in the chair and opened her book up where she'd left off. A flash of disappointment crossed his face, but Bridget was sure she imagined it. "Good-night, James."

* * *

She woke up warm. Bridget stretched, inhaling deeply. Then she realized why she was warm and why everything seemed to smell like soap and pine, and froze, blinking the sleep away as she focused on the sight in front of her. It wasn't much of anything, to be honest; it was more the implication that the expanse of white cloth had that was alarming, and the fact that it was gently, regularly moving up and down.

With one, swift motion Bridget sat up, grabbed a pillow and whacked James soundly on the head with it. She would've normally gone for the stomach, but he'd been injured and that would be cruel.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed when he showed sighs of conscious life.

"Sleeping," he replied, hazel eyes confused and unfocused as they stared in her general direction. "Or I was."

"Not that. Why am I in your _bed_? With _you_?" she asked, shortly. "And you were—"

Bridget shut up, blushing furiously. In retrospect, it wasn't the best way to keep her embarrassment hidden, but she'd already attacked him with a pillow. Still, she wasn't about to admit that she'd been cuddling up to him in her sleep.

He grinned. "You're a very needy sleeper."

Bridget hit him with the pillow again. "Shut up. You know what I mean."

"I woke up to take the last of my potion," he replied, finally seeing how upset it had made her. It seemed James was a bit mature after all. "You fell asleep in the chair so I put you in the bed. Normally it's more than big enough for two people and I stayed on the covers."

He was right.

"I've fallen asleep in armchairs before," she said weakly.

"Yes, so have I. It's not fun."

He was still right.

"Thank you."

"No problem." James grinned and bounded up. Apparently, he wasn't hurting anymore. He disappeared into a door she hadn't noticed before only to reappear carrying a large, wooden trunk. "Dumbledore sent over some of your stuff, and Mum transferred it to your trunk."

But, she hadn't _had _anything. That was the whole point of the trip to Diagon Alley. Bridget opened the trunk and felt all the tension drain from her shoulders. She had never been so happy to see AP textbooks and her ratty old trainers in her life.

* * *

No longer than fifteen minutes later, Bridget was in James's study (apparently the Potters had more than one) with her History textbook, notebook, and various studying supplies spread around her, feeling more normal than she had since she'd arrived. She was dressed in her usual attire: an old pair of black Converses only held together through sheer force of will and copious amounts of Duct tape, broken-in jeans from middle school, a t-shirt, and a University of Hawaii sweatshirt she'd commandeered from her cousin the year before.

She was even happy to have her old schoolwork, as dull and pointless as it could be. Dumbledore had left a note saying that she could resume her Muggle studies if she wished to, and get her high school diploma at the end of the year. He had made all the arrangements, even for her AP tests and the SAT's, and it was entirely up to her.

Bridget had gone through three years of honors and Advanced Placement courses; she wasn't about to let all that tedious work go to waste with less than a year on the clock. She paused in her essay about the direct effect trade had on the start of the Revolutionary War and frowned at the clock. It was already 9 in the morning, and the sun was high enough in the sky to cause worry. That left one, glaring question: Where was Sirius?

* * *

_**Author's Notes: **_Hello again. I hope you enjoyed it and I'm still sorry I left you with such a horrid cliffhanger last time. Anyhow, thanks to _**tyger cub, cam-is-hot, itra, **_and _**Gixie**_ for putting it on Story Alert, _**tyger cub,**_ _**Zelia, cam-is-hot, Gixie, darkxangelx-xo, **_and _**LegacyOfThePheonix **_for fav'ing, and _**tyger cub, Saffygirl, **_and _**Gixie **_for reviewing. Please review if you read it, as that makes me happy and helps guilt me into writing faster.

_**Next time:**_

_The fireplace flamed green and Bridget watched stoically as Sirius stepped out, brushing ash off of his trousers. Her hands froze where they had been tapping out a beat she was pretty sure was from some Nickelback song for the past hour. It was a nervous habit, and Sirius had been MIA for far, far too long, even James had begun to get worried._

_Sirius looked up, gray eyes widening minutely as he took in her not-too-pleased expression. "Hey, Bridget."_

"_When I said I'd cover for you I didn't expect it to be for this long."_

"_Sorry, I—"_

_But, he didn't get a chance to finish. The fireplace flamed green again, and Sirius lurched forward, whoever it was who just exited stumbling right into him. Bridget stood up instinctually reacting to the noise and Sirius's unbalance. He was fine, reaching behind himself to steady the other person as well._

_The girl stepped out from behind him, pushing his hands away with a frustration that looked familiar. She was short, well, shorter than either Bridget or Sirius, but Bridget had just enough height to be considered tall, and Sirius was, well, he was a guy. Pale and slim with strange gray-green eyes, she froze in place._

_Bridget took a alarmed step backwards, tripping over her own feet and the chair she'd spent the past two hours in. The back of the chair dug painfully into her spine, her legs were draped over the seat uncomfortably, and the back of her head throbbed once from hitting the ground so hard._

_She pushed herself up, forcing her double vision to focus on the girl. "Willow?"_


	8. Accidental Explosions

_**Disclaimer:**__ I don't own anything. If I did, the Marauders wouldn't have died; they would have lived long, fruitful lives causing mayhem and chaos, like it was meant to be. That never happened, therefore I own nothing._

**Story Summary: **Bridget Griffins had never really been considered normal, but this was weird even for her. Magic just can't be real, and even she knows that time travel is too dangerous, especially if you've already changed it beyond repair.

**Author's Notes: **Sorry (again) about the long wait, my computer is dead. Read on!

* * *

Chapter Eight

Accidental Explosions

_"True friendship comes when silence between two people is comfortable." -Dave Tyson Gentry_

There was entirely too much _stuff. _Bridget resolved to avoid going shopping with Mrs. Potter ever again; there was no way she was ever going to use all of the things she'd come back with, let alone need to buy new stuff. Ever.

But the trunk was _so_ cool. Obviously magical with several compartments, it was probably much more expensive than she'd be comfortable spending on a trunk. There wasn't much she could do when it had already been bought; pre-packed with things from home.

She pushed some of the hair out of her face, and continued folding the clothes to put into the third compartment. She was halfway through her task when her door opened, and James froze in the doorway, staring at her with shocked, hazel eyes and an unhinged mouth. Bridget frowned at him, then she realized exactly what she had been folding and blushed bright red, quickly tossing the offending garment into the trunk.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Potter was under the impression that females Bridget's age needed very nice, rather feminine lingerie, and had ignored any of Bridget's protests that there wasn't going to be anyone other than her seeing it. Apparently, she'd been wrong, and Mrs. P had been right, in a sort of disturbing way. Well, at least she hadn't been _wearing _it.

James continued staring at her, and she watched as a slow flush crept up his neck. "Um, James?"

"Hm?"

Really, now, she would've thought he'd at least _seen _something similar by now; he wasn't exactly unpopular. She quirked an eyebrow. "Did you need something?"

"Um, yeah." He seemed a little befuddled. Her lips curved up into a smile as her own embarrassment melted away in light of his distraction. Poor thing. "I wanted to ask you something."

There was a long pause. "Go on..."

"Right. Um." James blinked rapidly, apparently trying to regain control of his thoughts. "Did Sirius mention when he expected to be back?"

"He said shortly after dawn." She frowned, giving him a concerned look. "I'd assumed that he'd gotten distracted by something. Was I wrong?"

He shook his head absently, caught up thinking about something else. He wasn't looking at her, instead staring, unseeing, at some point near the foot of her bed with his eyebrows furrowed and a dark frown on his face. Bridget hesistated, worrying her bottom lip nervously. Sirius was his best friend, and, whatever they said about it, running around with a werewolf on nights of the full moon was dangerous. James was worried, no… he was scared. In one, swift movement, before she could talk herself out of it, Bridget stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

Red-faced, she pulled back, avoiding his eyes. "I'm sure he's fine."

Against her better judgement, she looked up to see what his reaction was, because he hadn't said a word in the thirty seconds since she'd hugged him (admittedly, it was the first conscious, voluntary time she'd touched him anywhere other than his hand or arm). She had time to notice that his hazel eyes were unusually bright, and he had an almost silly smile on his face, but, before she could say-- or do-- anything more, James reached out and pulled her back up to him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, and sighing so heavily she could feel it through the forehead she had resting against his chest (he really didn't give her much of a choice in the matter, seeing as he was taller and rather broader in the shoulder than she was).

"I feel a little better now," he said after a second, his chin perched on her head.

Bridget let herself sink into the warmth that came with being held by him; ignoring the (attractive) scent of grass, and soap, and spice (cinnamon?) that she inhaled with every breath. She'd be loathe to admit it to anyone aloud, but it was... comfortable. It was nice to be held in strong arms... warm, and safe. She felt more relaxed than she had in a long while.

But, it wasn't fair... to either of them. She wasn't about to lead him on when all she could do was get him to fall for Lily again, and she couldn't let herself fall for him; especially because he was so obviously her type it hurt.

"You're taking advantage of my good nature, love," she finally said after a couple of unsuccessful attempts to free herself. "There's packing, and I do have some homework I need to finish."

"Anything I can help with?"

"No, I don't think so. It's my Muggle work; I just kinda have to do it. So, unless you want to learn Muggle United States history…" she trailed off, and James winced. After a moment, he spoke again.

"I think I'll try to get a hold of Sirius."

Bridget nodded. "Wise choice."

"I thought so."

"Can you let go of me?"

He sighed. "Do I have to?"

"Yes," she said, glad that he couldn't see her smile, "You do. Sorry."

"It's okay." James pulled away. He stopped in the doorway, grinning back at her, and Bridget decided that his next statement would probably make her want to kick him. "We'll just have to continue later."

It did.

Bridget rolled her eyes. "In your dreams, Potter," she muttered. She froze, realizing that she had just given the innuendo-loving boy a _perfect_ opening. She knew better than that.

Eyes twinkling mischievously, he leaned casually against the doorframe. "At least I'll have pleasant dreams tonight."

She kicked him in the shin, and pushed him out of the room while he hopped about. She leaned against the door, grinning. The smile slid off and her head snapped back so quickly Bridget's head thumped painfully against the wood. "Ow." She pushed herself off the door, turning around and glaring at it with her arms crossed over her chest. "Crud, my books are out there."

* * *

The fireplace flamed green and Bridget watched stoically as Sirius stepped out, brushing ash off of his trousers. Her hand froze where it had been tapping out a beat she was pretty sure was from some Nickelback song or another for the past hour. It was a nervous habit, and Sirius had been M.I.A. for far, far too long; even James had gone pass worried and into frantic. It had taken all she had to keep him from dashing off to Hogwarts himself when he was supposed to be resting. Thankfully, he had an appointment with Mrs. Lupin at the moment.

Sirius looked up, gray eyes widening minutely as he took in her none-too-pleased expression. "Hey, Bridget."

"Sweetheart," she said in a calm, even voice, "when I said I'd cover for you I didn't expect it to be for this long."

"Sorry, I—"

But, he didn't get a chance to finish. Green flames erupted in the fireplace again, and Sirius lurched forward, whoever had just exited stumbling right into his back, probably because he hadn't moved since he saw her sitting there. He stumbled a few steps towards her and Bridget instinctively stood up, steadying the table when Sirius simultaneously hit it, and reached behind himself to steady whoever had Flooed into him.

The girl stepped out from behind him, pushing his hands away with a frustration that was unnervingly familiar. She was a few inches shorter than Bridget with a petite build that belied the power she seemed to radiate. She had straw-straight black hair pulled away from her face and no-nonsense brown eyes. The two girls were staring at each other with identical looks of pure shock.

Bridget took an alarmed step backwards, tripping over her own feet and the chair she'd spent the past two hours in. She hit the ground hard, and her vision swam as she took stock of the damage: the back of the chair was digging painfully into her spine (something was probably bruised), her legs were draped over the seat in a way that made her feel very lucky not to have twisted anything, and the back of her head throbbed where it had hit the ground.

She pushed herself up, forcing her double vision to focus on the girl. "Willow?"

"_Bridget?_" The girl rushed forward, ignoring Sirius, and helped pull Bridget onto her feet. "What are you doing here?"

"Dumbledore assigned me to them, well, assigned me to James," Bridget replied blandly, "then there was that whole Diagon Alley thing, so I needed to stay here with him. I was trying to do homework, waiting for Sirius," she sent a glare at the boy, "you know you have James worried sick and that can't be good for his injury, and you, Will, startled me so I fell. On the ground. That really hurt."

"Sorry," Willow said quickly, "but, you know what I mean, Jet. Why are you here? How did you get here?"

There was a moment of silence, where Bridget stared at Willow with wide, somber eyes. "I don't _know_," she finally said, sounding close to tears. "I was at The Bookstore, and I was going to leave because I was hungry and didn't want to cook anything-- I never did get that food-- but I found this book and I was going to go back in. Then I was here—well, not _here, _Hogwarts, but I don't know why or how and I'm missing the football games."

"You're," the girl gave her a confused look, eyebrows furrowing, "you're upset about _football_?"

Bridget blinked at Willow and promptly burst into tears, falling into a sobbing mess on the floor. "Yes!"

Willow knelt down next to her, rubbing her back in a comforting way. "It's—"

"Bridget?"

Willow and Sirius looked up at the door, where James was standing with the plate of sandwiches in one hand. He looked between Bridget, who was still on the ground, but only sniffling despondently by this point, and Will, and then rushed forward, dropping the plate on the table and pulling Bridget up into a tight hug; he seemed much more physically comfortable with her than before she'd hugged him. Great. He glared at Willow over Bridget's head, while the girl deteriorated into tears again.

"What did you do?" he asked, accusingly, tightening his grip on her as she continued soaking his shirt. Bridget could feel the words vibrating in his chest.

"Me?" responded Willow. "I didn't do _anything. _Why would it be my fault?"

"You scare people, Will. You're not," he paused, "nice," he finished weakly.

"I _am _nice," she protested.

"No you're not," Bridget said in a muffled voice.

"See!"

"Not like _that_, James." She took a step back, although he still had his arms wrapped around her shoulders, so she didn't get very far. "Will was perfectly kind to me; she just scared some of my classmates." Bridget frowned, blissfully ignorant to the tired glare Willow was currently gracing her with. "I mean, well, that didn't come out right. All that happened was one of the stupid girls in Regulars tried to pull some idiotic, half-baked, frankly _lame_ prank on her first thing in the morning, and I had to talk the Dean of Discipline out of giving Will a month's worth of detention before first bell at freaking 7 in the morning. And it's pretty damn difficult to get _any _after-school detention, let alone an entire month's worth, plus Saturday detention, so I had my work cut out for me."

"It was a stupid prank."

Bridget turned, gently breaking out of his arms and raising her eyebrows. "That doesn't mean that you put the chick in a choke-hold, Will. It's a bit more understandable now that I know you spend time with these two, though. Cassie's not very devious, so I was confused." She shrugged. "It did keep most of them from bothering me when you were around; I hadn't had that much peace and quiet since I first got elected."

"Glad to be of service."

"Wait," Sirius said, finally recovering from whatever shocked state he had gotten himself into. "You two _know _each other?"

"Yes," they said in unison.

* * *

The room was dark, and different in some way, but she recognized it.

"I'm sorry, Prongs." Sirius's voice was hoarse, and quiet, and _so _full of pain, but it was nothing compared to James. He was too thin, and his shoulders were hunched with some unspoken tension as he sat at the desk. When he looked up at his friend, his eyes, normally so expressive, were blank, and the light threw his face into a harsh relief that made it seem like he had aged ten years in a night.

"It's not your fault," he said in a voice that was scary by its calm. Almost everything she'd heard him say had had some undercurrent of enjoyment in it, like he was finding what you said unaccountably amusing and couldn't be bothered to explain it. In fact, the only time he had sounded this serious had been with Lestra-- oh, God. Bridget's heart fell to her stomach, and her vision began to spin. It was the funeral.

"James?" Lily swept in, looking every bit the upper class witch in her dark green robes. "James, sweetheart, they're starting to arrive."

Sirius patted James on the shoulder. "Don't rush, mate, I'll take care of it; Cassie will help." Before his friend could respond, Sirius had left, shutting the door behind him with a loud click, which is precisely when Bridget realized that James had begun to cry. He wasn't making so much as the smallest noise, but his shoulders were shaking, and he had his head in his hands. His entire frame screamed the pain he was feeling in the way James never could do for himself.

At the same moment, Bridget and Lily moved towards James, but it was only Lily who could do something for him. She smoothed his hair down, making soft, comforting sounds, and didn't even blink when the man (not boy, he'd grown up in the painful, quick way death had) pulled her into his lap, gripping her so tightly it must've hurt. She let him mourn for his parents in peace, and provided him with the comfort he so desperately needed, the comfort Bridget wished she could give him, but knew she couldn't.

James needed Lily.

* * *

"Bridget? Bridget!"

Someone was shaking her, and it took her a moment to wake up. "James?"

"It's okay," he murmured, pushing some of the hair out of her face. "It was just a nightmare."

James was sitting next to her, on her bed, and his eyes were full of concern. He was still _James, _the boy she had started to get to know, not the broken man she had just seen. Even if it was inevitable that he'd grow up so harshly, she would do anything to postpone that transformation.

"I'm sorry, James," she said, her voice so soft she was a little surprised when he responded.

"Why? You haven't done anything wrong." He grinned. "I should probably apologize for being a git."

"You're not that bad. Under normal circumstances I'd probably find you extremely amusing, if not charming."

He snorted. "Lily would disagree."

"Well, Lily's wrong." Bridget drew her legs up, wrapping her arms around them and resting her chin there. She examined James over her blanket-covered knees. "How'd your appointment with Mrs. Lupin go?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair before leaning back on the bed, stretching out directly in front of her. "She suggested that I don't go back until next week."

"An entire _week?_" she repeated, noticing for the first time that he wasn't wearing a shirt, but still had bandages wrapped around his torso. "What did you _do_ to yourself?"

"I might've gone," he paused gesturing vaguely in the air with one hand, eyes closed, "flying."

Her mouth dropped open. _"James!_"

"What?" He opened his eyes and regarded her shock with amusement.

"You know better than that!"

"I have a game next week Saturday. I need the practice."

"Don't josh around; you need no such thing."

"I probably don't, but I do need sleep." James yawned, stretching across the dark green comforter. "Otherwise I'm going to fall asleep here, and my mum would not be happy."

"Good night. Thanks for... waking me."

"No problem." He smiled at her. "Good night."

* * *

It had happened again. Bridget sighed, at least this time she knew where she was. Ignoring the temptation to settle back down and go to sleep, she tried to get herself out of his arms. It didn't really work. This was becoming much too common; it could not be helping her mission. James shifted in his sleep, groaned, and turned over, leaving one arm fastened around her waist. She tried to get up again.

"Go to sleep," he muttered, and she started, blushing a deep red. "You kept me up half the night."

"That... sounds very wrong." She fiddled with the blanket, wishing she was able to sit up properly. "Um... what happened?"

James yawned, shifting again so he was facing her. It was very disarming to see him this close without his glasses on. "You had another nightmare. Wouldn't let me leave, so I just slept here."

"I am _so_ sorry."

"You don't remember it?" He finally sat up, searching for his glasses with one hand. "You were really upset. I mean--"

"That's enough, thanks," Bridget interrupted quickly. "I remember a little; very vague. I'm not usually that... um..." her blush deepened, "that clingy. Sorry. I have some trouble sleeping. Weird dreams and stuff, and I can't usually remember what happens," until she'd arrived here. "It's very frustrating, especially when you're already exhausted."

There was a long silence during which she fervently wished she hadn't said a word. "How long has it been?" he finally asked.

"Since I've had anything resembling a good night's sleep?" She felt her blush deepening. "Last night, probably."

"And before then?"

"The, um," her face was burning, "night before that. Before that it was probably a couple of weeks. Maybe more. But I've always had some problem keeping a regular sleep schedule."

"Pillows."

Bridget blinked. "What?"

"You won't hit me with pillows again, right?"

She smiled, relaxing instantly; he actually looked worried. "No. I think you're safe for now."

"I just wanted to make sure."

"I'm pretty sure I would've hit you by now if I was going to. I'm going to... go now." Bridget slid out of bed, pushing the sleeve back on her shoulder as she grabbed some clothes out of her trunk. "Um, James? Your mum, she won't really be upset you were with me, will she?"

He chucked. "Not a bit. She loves you, says that your the first original girl she's met in a while except for... Lily." He faltered a bit, grin quickly falling off his face, but he recovered just as quickly. "I think she'd be willing to kick me out if she could keep you, but I'd just take you with me," she blushed again, and his grin came back in full force, "so she's stuck with both of us."

"She was upset the first time."

"Yeah, but now she thinks you can, and I quote 'handle' me. She's probably downstairs telling the Elves how to make breakfast while contemplating how long it'll be until she can plan a wedding."

He was right. Well, about the elves; she wasn't positive about the planning.

* * *

Bridget spent the rest of the week trying to convince James not to blow up the house. It wasn't that he was upset or anything, he had just found her chemistry set and promptly found two of the most dangerous chemicals in the box and tried to mix them. Several times. Accidental explosions seemed to be a special skill of his.

The rest of the time she was desperately trying to catch up before she had to return to Hogwarts. The attack had been a bit of a blessing in disguise; there was no way she could've gotten through the textbooks she'd read if she had been taking classes at the same time. It was going to be hard enough when she got back even _with_ all the work she'd finished.

She leaned back in the seat, stretching out the kinks in her shoulders, and looked over at James. He was doing some of his own homework, book and parchment perched rather precariously on his lap with his sock-clad feet on the table and quill in his mouth. Bridget wasn't sure whether she was surprised or not, but he had been extremely helpful with her catch-up and he hadn't done anything to counter-act the positive.

"James?" He looked up, and she tried not to blush. "Thank you."

"For what?" he asked. A second later, James sighed and ran a hand through his hair; he seemed embarrassed. "Did my mum tell you--?"

"No, not," Bridget frowned, "...whatever it is you're talking about. You're mother hasn't told me anything. Well, nothing I would thank you for. Just thanks for helping me with school and stuff."

He shrugged, grinning sheepishly. "I'm Head Boy; it's what I'm supposed to do."

"You didn't have to and we both know it."

"Um... you're welcome, then." He suddenly perked up and let the chairs of his legs drop to the ground with a loud _thump_. "Hey, do you want to learn how to fly?"

Bridget regarded him with wide eyes, her hand hovering frozen over the book. "What?"

"Fly. On brooms." He stood up, tossing his book on the table. "Come on, you'll love it."

* * *

_**Author's Notes: **_I'm sorry about the long wait, but my computer is dead, and I'm trying to work off of my friends' and family's laptops, so updates will be sporadic until I can get it fixed.

Thanks to _**chezE122091,**_ and _**Electrified **_for putting _KM _on story alert, _**appleeater123 **_for fav'ing _KM, _and _**Saffygirl**_ for the review. Please review if you read it; I'm more likely to update if I feel guilty about letting people down.

_**Next time:**_

_This… was not good. Bridget put her bag on the floor next to the desk and sat down, trying her best to not look at her desk mate. She could hear the whispers around her, and, blushing furiously, realized that the rumors of her arrival must have spread around the school, only augmented by her and James's absence for the previous week._

_They sat in silence as Slughorn began his rounds, to each set of partners, and the whispered noise of classroom conversations broke out around the room. Even Sirius and James were muttering furiously to each other behind her. _

_It was just… Bridget didn't know what to _say _to her partner. It was so awkward._

"_Well, Miss Griffins," Slughorn said, finally reaching her table, and beaming down at them. "I'm surprised you did so well, but I really shouldn't be, should I? With your father's talents in the Potions lab. Of course, I never had the pleasure of meeting him."_

_Bridget had no idea what he was talking about._

"_I'm sure you'll both get along splendidly." Unlikely. "And I saved the best for last. I feel that I can trust you both with the responsibility; after all, such attractive girls shouldn't have any problem with the young men. If only I was a few years younger… " He trailed off, chuckling. There was a scraping sound from the boys' table, a soft thump, and more furious muttering. "You two shall be working on Amortentia."_

_Bridget glanced up from the parchment and straight into Lily's eyes. The other girl was looking back coolly, her face blank of any emotion. She seemed even unhappier about the arrangement than Bridget was. This was not going to be easy._


	9. Just Hold On

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own anything. If I did, the Marauders wouldn't have died; they would have lived long, fruitful lives causing mayhem and chaos, like it was meant to be. That never happened, therefore, I own nothing._

_**Author's Notes: **_Just like with everything else, this has taken longer than I'd have liked. Posting should be quicker, but I can't promise anything. Enjoy the chapter.

**Edit: **I changed the last scene of this chapter and the character 'Cassie' was removed.

* * *

Chapter Nine

Just Hold On

_"I am/ At war 'twixt will and will not." --Shakespeare (Isabella, __Measure for Measure__)_

"James, I'm not too sure about this."

The afternoon air was cold against her skin as she frowned down at him. Bridget pushed the mussed bangs out of her hair, wishing that she knew what exactly he thought he was doing.

"It'll be fine," he replied, straightening up. He frowned at her and swiftly pulled his sweater over his head, leaving him in a thin t-shirt. "Here."

She shook her head. "I'm all right. Really."

"You're shivering," he said simply. When she just stood there, arms crossed stubbornly, James tugged it over her head, leaving her blinking up at him in startled confusion. She pushed her arms through the sleeves, cheeks tinted pink, and nearly pulled away when James took her hands, rubbing them between his. "You're hands are freezing, Bridge." He smiled softly at her. "There. Now, isn't that better?"

"Yes, thanks." Her smile faltered a bit as she realized that it actually _was_ much better. The wool was still warm and the leftover scent of pine and soap and… well... him (and when had she gotten so used to it that she could recognize it instantly?) relaxed her. She sighed. "All right, now what is it you want me to do?"

James smiled widely at her, practically beaming, and picked up the broomstick. He knelt, frowning at something and Bridget found her eyes drawn to the shirt pulled taut across his shoulders. It was a bit distracting; she had no idea what he was actually saying.

"Bridget?"

She jumped and stared at him, flushing red. "Um, yes?" she said in a quiet voice.

"Uh... here. Just... straddle this." James held the broom out for her and she swung her leg over.

It was an... unusual feeling. The broom looked like it would be very uncomfortable to sit on (after all, it was essentially a stick), but it was actually much nicer than she'd expected, something like a really comfortable bicycle seat.

"Okay," he continued. He wrapped his arms around her, much like others had done when she'd been taught how to swing a bat, and adjusted her grip until it actually resembled a golf grip, if at an awkward angle. "Keep it loose, now," he said softly, close to her ear. "Good. Now, you're going to kick off to get off the ground. Keep your knees and elbows in when you're in the air and steer by leaning as much as using your hands." He pulled back, leaving her suddenly cold. "I'm going to get my broom; then we can start."

Good God, what had she gotten herself into?

* * *

Flying was a rush, one that Bridget hadn't been entirely prepared for. It was like being in the ocean again, something that she had found herself missing in the past few days. If you knew how to recognize it, you could feel the air currents and how to use it to best move. And there was a _sport _that went with it; one that made much more sense to than water polo ever had.

She loved it.

"I told you it was brilliant," James said smugly as he leaned against the counter in his kitchen. He took one of the chocolate chip cookies from the plate his mum had left out and bit into it.

Bridget pulled herself onto the counter next to him, swinging her legs gently, and took a cookie of her own. "And _I _never said otherwise, sweetheart." She frowned. "Um, you have some... come here for a sec." She motioned for him to step closer and, when he did, picked the grass out of his hair. "There we go."

"Thanks."

Oh, boy.

Without realizing it, she'd moved closer to the edge of the counter, dropping her knees open so she could reach him and now he was standing against the counter, very close to her. James seemed to realize their position at the same time. He placed one hand on her hip and reached over with the other to tilt her chin up so that she was looking straight at him, hazel eyes intense as he searched for something in her face. She felt a bit light-headed.

"Will you go to Hogsmeade with me?" he asked in a soft, low voice, making warmth flood her body. He hadn't assumed; he hadn't taken advantage; he'd _asked. _And all she had to do was accept, say that one word or lean forward and tilt her head just so, just enough for him to know.

"James, are you--?" Mr. Potter froze in the doorway. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No. I—"

Bridget cut herself off, dropping her gaze to her lap. She gently pushed James away and slid off the counter. For a moment, they were pressed together and heat flushed her cheeks. Bridget kissed him on the cheek, feeling awkward now that the moment was over and she a chance to realize what she had almost done.

"I'm sorry, James."

And she fled.

* * *

Her hand was still aching and she hadn't even been writing; Bridget had spent the last half hour making a simple Sleeping Draught for her Potions placement exam. But it was almost seven at night and, aside from the lunch James had brought for them, she had been taking the multiple placement tests since early that morning. She knew it was necessary because they were going back tomorrow, but that didn't make it any more fun.

Well, except for being allowed to hex James for her Defense practical. That had been very amusing.

"Very good." Mr. Potter smiled at her, placing the vial in the box with her other assignments. "Personally, I'd place you as a proficient sixth year." Bridget tried to smile; that was… good? Right? "Have you considered what you want to pursue after Hogwarts?"

Oh, fun. Career advice. "Um… no, not really. I haven't had much of a chance to come to terms with actually being at Hogwarts, much less think about what I'm going to do next."

"Hm…" Mr. Potter leaned back in his chair like she had seen James do dozens of times, resting his feet on the desk. "What were you going to do in the Muggle world?"

"I was going to go to university. There was no way I wasn't going to go to university." She leaned forward, familiar with having conversations about her future. "Most of my life I wanted to be in law enforcement—I've been told I have the mind for it and it's what I've been around my entire life because of my dad—I was particularly attracted to the F.B.I. or N.C.I.S." She noticed his utterly blank look. "Federal Bureau of Investigation and Naval Criminal Investigative Services. It's… like the Aurors, I imagine."

"You don't have police officers in Hawaii?"

"Um, yes. We do. My dad's chief of police in Honolulu, actually. The F.B.I. is a national law enforcement agency. They deal with federal laws like kidnapping. N.C.I.S. is a civilian organization that investigates the navy, a branch of our military. They're a little more comprehensive than the police force is and often require more… training, I suppose."

"Ah, I understand. Well, if you're still interested, you should consider the Auror Academy. Not many fully trained wizards can match my son in a duel." His face broke into a slow smile. "Of course, there may be another reason for that."

Bridget immediately flushed red. "Um. Well, I dunno. I'm not very experienced with magic and, um…"

"It's okay." His grin was starting to get rather smug; he was looking more like James by the second. "I won't tell my boy, but, between us, I think he may be absolutely besotted with—"

"_Dad!_" Oh, thank God. James was standing in the study's doorway, hand still on the doorknob. He looked mortified.

"Yes, son?" Mr. Potter replied, sounding rather pleased with himself.

"Were you just—" James cut himself off with a shake of his head, apparently deciding not to go in that direction; it was probably safer, anyways. "Mum wants to know if you're finished yet. Supper's ready."

"Oh, splendid." James's father stood up in a swift, fluid motion. "I do hope we have that Yankee apple crisp your mother is so fond of."

He strode out of the room, leaving behind two red-faced teenagers behind him, staring at each other. Bridget sighed and looked away.

* * *

Mrs. Potter pulled Bridget into yet another hug while Mr. Potter looked on with what she could only describe as amusement. "Now, I want you to write every week and make sure my boys write a bit as well. I want to know everything that happens."

"Yes, ma'am." Bridget adjusted her messenger bag nervously and gripped her trunk handle tighter; she didn't like all this fuss.

"And if any of them give you any trouble—and I mean _any _trouble—you should owl me straightaway and I'll take care of it."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And—"

"Mum," James interrupted sternly. He seemed almost as uncomfortable with the situation as Bridget felt. "We have to go; we'll be late for supper."

"Yes, James, I remember when supper is. I also know that you're not going to eat in the Great Hall; you're going straight to the Heads' Rooms and you'll get food from the Kitchens. Your father did the same thing when he wanted some privacy." She turned her attention back to the girl. "I'm sure you'll do fine tomorrow; Henry told me how well you did on your tests. Now, do you know how to Portkey?"

"I just hold on."

"Very good. You'll meet Peter tonight as well. He's such a lovely boy."

Her smile froze in place. Oh, crud. Bridget hadn't thought about that. How was she going to deal with having to meet the man who single-handedly ruined at least six lives? She didn't do forgiveness _that_ well.

"Oh, and James mentioned that you made friends with—"

James sighed heavily, grabbed the Portkey and wrapped his arm around Bridget before anyone-- least of all the girl herself-- could protest. "Bye, Mum."

* * *

She couldn't believe she'd forgotten about _Peter_, of all people. To be completely honest, she had despised Peter Pettigrew more than any other character in the books. Sure, Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort may have been pure evil sociopaths and Malfoy and Dudley were ignorant bullies, but at least they were upfront about it. Peter had, as far as the books had shown, only been a traitor and a coward.

She just couldn't understand how someone could betray his friends as thoroughly as Peter had done. But, this Peter hadn't done anything yet. He was probably quite nice. Bugger.

Bridget jumped when the door opened, watching with wide, frightened eyes as James's friends entered, laughing about something or another. Peter was taller than she'd expected, about her height, and not so much plump as… solidly built, which made him look big when compared with his friends' taller, leaner builds. He had sharper features than any of the other three boys, fine straw-blond hair and watery blue eyes.

She was surprised. Peter wasn't really unattractive at all. He just wasn't… enough. He was average and it made him seem less than he really was. He looked washed out next to Remus's solid, down-to-earth appeal, Sirius's classic handsomeness, and, she imagined, James's boy-next-door charm. The poor thing didn't stand a chance when he was friends with those three.

Sirius strode pass, ruffling her already untidy hair like she was five as he did so.

"Hello, love. How are you feeling?"

He stretched out across the couch until Remus knocked his feet off so he could sit too. It would've been an amusing scene if Bridget hadn't been so worried that she might lose it and punch Peter.

They probably wouldn't take that too well.

"Um," she finally said when she realized they were staring back at her, confused, "I'm fine."

Sirius smiled contentedly, perching his feet on Remus's lap while the other boy scowled at the offending limbs. "Splendid."

Remus sighed—which he seemed to do a lot—sounding rather exasperated by his friend. "Sirius, if you don't get off of me I will hex all your hair off while you sleep," he said calmly. Sirius removed his legs. "Now," he continued in a much more relieved voice. "Bridget, may I introduce the missing Gryffindor, Peter Pettigrew." He waved a hand in Peter's direction. "Pete, this is Bridget Griffins. She's… new."

Gee… thanks Remus.

Peter smiled at her, only faltering when she continued to look slightly frightened. She tried to calm herself. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Bridget."

"It's, um, nice to meet you, too," she replied with a small smile that seemed to reassure all of the boys.

"See, Pete, she really is shy."

Bridget groaned, sinking back into the chair. Tomorrow was going to be fun.

* * *

Well, it didn't go as badly as she might have expected. Of course, that could have something to do with the fact that she had been surrounded by the boys, usually with James's arm draped over her shoulders, but it really could've gone much, much worse.

Of course, that was all before Potions class.

"Stand around the back, please," the jolly-looking man said as they entered, gesturing at the back of the room without looking up. "We'll be starting a term-long project today. I shall pair you up according to House and ability." Slughorn lifted the parchment closer, examining it through his spectacles. "Now, first we have Snape and Brown. Potter and Black." Bridget winced; there was only one other Gryffindor in the class. "Griffins and Evans."

This… was not good. Bridget put her bag on the floor next to the desk and sat down, trying her best not to look at her partner. She could hear the whispers around them and, blushing furiously, realized that the rumors of her arrival must have spread around the school, only augmented by her and James's prolonged absence and his protectiveness during the day.

She sighed. Wonderful.

They sat in a strained silence as Slughorn, now finished reading his horrid list, began making his rounds to all the pairs and whispered conversations broke out around the room. Even Sirius and James were muttering furiously to each other in the desk behind her.

It was just… Bridget didn't know what to say to Lily, and the other girl didn't seem too keen on talking to her, either.

"Well, Miss. Griffins," Slughorn said, having finally reached their table, as he beamed down at them. Bridget felt sick. "I'm surprised you did so well, but I really shouldn't be, should I? With your father's talents in the Potions lab. Of course, I never had the pleasure of meeting him."

She had no idea what he was talking about.

"I'm sure you'll both get along splendidly." Unlikely. "And I saved the best for last. I feel that I can trust you with the responsibility; after all, such attractive girls as yourselves shouldn't have any problem with young men. If only I was a few years younger…" he trailed off, chuckling to himself while Bridget gave him a rather sickened look. There was a scraping sound from the boys' table, a soft thump, and more furious muttering that Slughorn didn't seem to notice. "You two shall be working on Amortentia."

He had to be _joking._

* * *

She shut the Potions book and tossed it haphazardly on the table.

God, this was going to suck. Lily did not like her; that much was obvious from the first time they'd spoken and the other girl had dismissed her. She was perfectly warm and kind to everyone else she spoke to, just not Bridget, James, or Sirius (the last of which was completely understandable as Sirius was a right jerk to her most of the time).

Nevertheless, they would _have _to work together and Lily didn't seem petty enough to actively be hurtful. Bridget decided that she'd just have to… she'd have to be determined about it. And let all of the other girl's comments role off her back. She could do that. Hopefully.

* * *

"You are not telling us something," Sirius declared as he sat on the couch across from her. He set his feet on the cushion immediately to her right; Bridget decided to ignore it, instead giving him a long, level look.

"You are wise and perceptive, Master Black," she replied dryly as she turned back to her book. She turned a page in the Charms text, wondering why the Index had said the Notice-Me-Not Charm were covered in the chapter when, obviously, they weren't even mentioned. "I now understand why Remus puts up with you. It was starting to confuse me."

"I always assumed it was because of my stunningly fantastic good looks. He never could resist me." There was a short, expectant pause before Sirius spoke again. "Is it important?"

Bridget looked up from her book and straight at him. His gray eyes were steely and serious and his expression, unforgiving. This was the Sirius Black who became an Auror, who people could believe went wrong. "Yes."

"Is it harmful to me or my friends?" he continued in the same calm voice.

She hesitated for a moment. "Possibly. I don't know."

"All right. Points for honesty." Sirius gave her an unreadable look, frowning slightly again. "You've lost weight."

Bridget stiffened and the grip she had on her book tightened until her knuckles were white. She smiled coolly, more the quick upturn of her lips than a real grin. "Gee, thanks for noticing," she said lightly, gesturing at herself. "I have been trying to slim down."

"Don't be ridiculous," he dismissed. This wasn't going to work. Bridget hated it when she was forced to talk about things she didn't want to. It wasn't like it was even anything that bad. "You don't need to and you're not vain enough to think you do."

He got to his feet with more grace than any teenage boy should really have, and took her chin in his hand, examining her face. There wasn't anything threatening or suggestive about the gesture, so Bridget decided not to take offense. It wasn't worth the effort and probably wouldn't work, not when he had more than enough experience mothering Remus and even, apparently, James when he couldn't be bothered to be injured or sick and took stupid risks.

"You've not been sleeping, either," he concluded after he was done, although he still hadn't removed his hand. She started to contemplate the merits of hitting it away, but he lowered it before she could decide. "I can brew a Dreamless Sleep if you like."

* * *

"I'm fine." He still seemed skeptical, so she sighed. "Really. Everything's just a little weird and sudden for me; it's nothing to do with anything of yours."

Luckily, that wasn't a blatant lie. Most of the dreams that had kept her up had been about James or the others, but she hadn't had any recently and she was just as likely not sleeping from the stress of the situation at this point. Besides, there wasn't anything he could do about it.

Then she realized he was grinning. Bridget didn't like it; he looked far too amused, as if she had done something inexplicably cute.

"Remus trusts you, Peter adores you, and James sulks when you don't pay him enough attention. Hell, _I _like you and I don't even want to shag you."

"James sulks if _McGonagall _doesn't pay him enough attention." She blinked, just processing the last part of his speech. "Oh, wait, what? Ew."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Thanks for that. See, you fit right in." He smiled again, this time something softer and flicked her chin. It was a little condescending, but mostly sweet. "Love, you _are_ one of mine."

He was right and she didn't want to hurt him. She needed to figure this out.

* * *

_**Author's Notes: **_Thank you to everyone who's read this and waited so long for the newest chapter. Special thanks go out to _**cocogirl198, **_and _**WannaBeNinja **_for putting me on author alert; _**Lift the Wings, Wunmiii, Michelle Black a.k.a. Elle, Nevergonnafitin, iloveebfanfics, The Little Lost Lamb, DanceScreamSing, **_and _**WannaBeNinja **_for putting _KM _on story alert; _**Wunmiii, iloveebfanfics, The Little Lost Lamb, **_and _**SeedsAndMisdeeds **_for favoriting _KM;_ and _**Lift the Wings, Iluvdraco55, PieAnnamay07, Wunmiii, Michelle Black a.k.a. Elle, iloveebfanfics, The Little Lost Lamb, **_and _**Lou **_(twice)for reviewing.

Wow. I think that may be the most response I've gotten in a while. Three things. (1) I try to respond personally to every review I get, so, if you want a response and don't have an account, either put your e-mail in the anonymous review or send me an e-mail. (2) If you like this story and haven't yet done so, you might want to check out the companion story to _KM, Why Not?_ It's from James's point of view, and, although not quite up to the same point in time, it should be updated more often until they match up. (3) Please review if you read it, flames will be used to... heat things up? Is that witty enough?

Next chapter should be up soon. Until then, here's the preview...

_**Next time:**_

_She loved Quidditch. Bridget absolutely loved it; she could already feel the giddiness of an oncoming obsession. She'd always been a bit of a tomboy, having grown up watching or playing every sport imaginable, but Quidditch was even better than football... not that she was ever going to tell her father or brother that._

_And Gryffindor had won. Granted, Willow wasn't going to be too happy about losing for a... well, a while, but Bridget really didn't care; James was going to be ecstatic._

_She left the Kitchens with Remus, levitating massive amounts of food and drink with their wands. Bridget frowned at the mountain of food in front of her; she still wasn't completely confident about her levitation charm and she didn't want to lose concentration._

_"Audaces fortuna iuvat," Remus said to the portrait, before gesturing for her to go first._

_"Fortune favors the bold?" she muttered to him. "That's a bit... self-serving for a Gryffindor, don't you think?"_

_"But it's true."_

_Laughing, Bridget carefully climbed through the portrait whole. She turned and an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush to another body as the other hand cradled the back of her neck._

_The food fell to the floor with a resounding crash in the sudden silence._


	10. Willing to Wager

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own anything. If I did, the Marauders wouldn't have died; they would have lived long, fruitful lives causing mayhem and chaos, like it was meant to be. That never happened, therefore, I own nothing._

_**Author's Notes: **_I suck at life. First of all, I apologize for the long wait. I'll probably be late for my own funeral, so I don't know why I'm so surprised. Secondly, there was a small change in the last chapter in the… deletion of a character who was bound to create more problems than solutions. The last two scenes have been mostly re-written.

* * *

Chapter Ten

Willing to Wager

"_Dare to think and dare to do." –Mao Tse-Tung_

The notebook was mocking her. Well… not really, of course, but Bridget glared at it nonetheless. She knew she was well versed in Potter canon, but all she had to show for it were some vague facts and important events that she had very few details about. In fact the only concrete dates she really had were birthdates (most particularly, Harry's) and… October 31, 1981.

That was helpful.

She sighed and shut the book, rubbing her temple with her other hand. This was going to be harder than she'd thought— whether she decided to follow Dumbledore's directions or not. Bridget just didn't know enough to make a conscious difference in either keeping the timeline or attempting to make a new one. She didn't even know enough to really try to fix James and Lily's relationship.

Wonderful.

* * *

_He was on the ground, blood trailing down his cheeks in a sick mockery of tears, yet there was a defiant glint in his eyes that refused to do anything to hint at surrender. He gasped for air, the breath rattling painfully in his lungs, and, slowly but boldly, he rose to his feet. He glared at Voldemort and spat at him._

"_No."_

_For some reason, Voldemort looked pleased. "You defy me?" he said. His voice was still tempered sweetly, but there was a steel behind it that made the fact that it was but a thin veneer over the threat all the more obvious. Bridget withdrew automatically, feeling the words like they were hexes._

_James's shoulders straightened. She knew what was coming; it was inevitable and it made her so proud to know such a man. One who could spit (quite literally) in the face of evil and stand up to him. "Yes. I believe that's what 'no' means."_

_For a moment it looked like Voldemort was going to hit James, but he restrained himself. James was swaying slightly on his feet and his eyes were starting to dull, lose their focus. He wasn't going to last long._

"_Pity," Voldemort continued in the same, controlled voice. His unnatural red eyes were sharp as they examined the other man and found his weakness. "I did hope— futilely it would seem— that you would see that your current path only leads to death."_

"_There are," James replied in a slightly shaking voice, "things much worse than death." He grinned and unexpectedly, as if he had just been affected by another spell, he seemed much stronger. "For example, I could be a bald guy with no nose and an ego so big I just _must _be compensating for something."_

_Voldemort scowled and drew his wand down sharply in a cruel slash of red. "_Crucio,_" he hissed._

"_JAMES!" she screamed as the light hit him, his cries echoing in her mind._

* * *

"Bridge. Bridget!" The voice was solid and strong and Bridget clung to it as her vision cleared. "Bridget, look at me. Come on, love, look here."

She blinked, looking up at him, and threw her arms around his neck. "Oh God," she muttered. "You're okay. You're all right. You're—oh, thank God."

"I'm fine," he replied, sounding rather confused.

Bridget gripped him tighter, shaking and trying desperately not to cry all over him. She shouldn't be this torn up over him; she didn't have the right to be so upset over what would happened in a future that might never be. He smoothed down her hair, his other arm wrapped firmly around her waist.

She took a deep, calming breath and pushed away. She straightened his shirt nervously, studiously avoiding his eyes; otherwise James would see that she was still on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry. Of course you're fine."

But, still, Bridget couldn't help herself from running her hands along his arms and chest. She needed to know, she needed to be sure that he really was okay. Her fingers found his face, trailing across his cheekbones and down the firm line of his jaw, and, finally, she was threading them through the thick strands of his hair.

He was okay.

She finally breathed, shaky and relieved, and her eyes shut as Bridget rested her forehead against his chest. James seemed so much bigger when they were sitting down—an effect created by the relative shortness of her torso compared to his and the broad width of his shoulders— and it comforted her.

She knew who he was and had seen who he could be if he was given the chance, and it made her love him while her heart broke. He was a hero, the only hero she wanted, and he was destined to die. His arms threaded around her waist again, but, for once, she let herself sink into the feeling he gave her.

She felt so lost.

* * *

There had always been one reason why many of Bridget's family and friends thought _not _going to Hogwarts might have been in her best interest: her sense of direction sucked. In fact, it was nearly nonexistent on most days. She had never been good at finding her way around places, usually wandering around until she found something remotely familiar.

It was for that reason that Bridget had taken to following one of the boys or Willow—who had, oh-so-helpfully, explained her predicament to the others—around the grounds. She wasn't very keen on making other friends and they were over-protective enough that they probably would've insisted on showing her around regardless of her sense of direction (or lack thereof).

She'd still managed to get lost. Several times.

Usually, she found her way back on her own with very little collateral damage. Of course, there had been that incident with that Slytherin seventh-year, but James and Sirius had apologized so all was well. And there'd been that time when Remus had found her in a room that none of them had seen before.

She enjoyed getting lost, though. It was a way to get to know the castle for herself and the portraits were better sources of information than the anonymous, illustrious school paper: _The_ _Ravenclaw Eagle_. There was one on the way to the Library from the Head dorms (if you took a bit of a scenic route) that she was particularly fond of; he always had the most interesting stories.

"Griffins?" She froze. Not again. "Are you conversing with that portrait?"

Bridget turned around; he didn't _sound _very combative, only a bit curious, but that didn't make sense. Severus Snape did not like the Marauders and he didn't like _her. _She gave him a searching look—or it was possible that she was just always around the boys. This could be interesting.

"Yes," she said carefully, trying for neutrality. She didn't know if she should prepare to take her wand out or not. "Why?"

Snape ignored her question, striding forward as he gave her a look that was almost, but not quite a glare. He gestured at the wizard in the portrait, who was glaring at him. "Do you realize who this _is_?"

She peered curiously at the painting. He was young—couldn't be older than twenty-five or so—with an attractive face: deep blue eyes sharp with wit and full of (ironically) something that could only be called life and dark auburn hair swept away from his face. His robes were formal and a rich shade of red that complimented his hair quite nicely, but they hung open over a plain white tunic and black trousers.

"Um… he said his name was Clarke," she finally replied, suddenly rather uncertain about it all.

"Yes, _Godfrey _Clark," Snape snapped back impatiently. After a beat, he continued speaking, "You have no idea who that is, do you?"

Bridget blinked; this was the strangest conversation she'd ever had. "Godfrey Clarke? Really? I think he prefers just to be called Clarke, though."

Snape let out a long-suffering sigh, rolling his eyes heavenward as if he was asking God for strength. "_Gryffindors_,_" _he muttered to himself; he sounded like he was talking about a lower species of man. "They have no sense of history." He turned his attention back to Bridget while she stared, wide-eyed and more than a bit off-balance. "Godfrey Clarke built Hogwarts."

"He… what?" Bridget turned to the portrait. "You did not." Clarke shrugged— no help what-so-ever— and she turned back to Snape. "What about the Founders?"

"They built the _school_," Snape explained, impatience leaking from his voice like sand from a sieve. "Clarke built the castle. He was Gryffindor's ward and friends with both the Gryffindor and Slytherin Heirs until the Duel; shortly after which he disappeared. This portrait doesn't talk to any of the students."

"Oh." Snape glared at her, as if he had expected more of a response. She ignored him, instead turning back to Clarke. "Is that true?" she asked the portrait.

He shrugged again, but this time he spoke as well, the Irish lilt evident in his voice. "I speak with those who understand the true spirit of Hogwarts and her Houses. The Sorting was meant to strengthen us all," he glared at Snape, "not divide. You, mistress, do not care which House a person belongs to, even if you are Gryffindor's."

It was Bridget's turn to shrug. "It doesn't really matter in the end. Besides, most of my friends would be Ravenclaws or Slytherins, not Gryffindors. Anyways, I was asking about the family history."

"The rest," he said after a reluctant moment, "the rest is accurate. This portrait was sent after my death by my progeny in respect to Helga's wishes."

"He refuses to reveal where he went or what he changed his name to," Snape added. "Most scholars suspect he had a hand in Beauxbatons' creation."

Clarke rolled his eyes. "And I still refuse to reveal it," he said coldly and Bridget could sense—even if he was technically made of paint and canvas—the power he must have held.

"Why—?"

"Bridget?" a wary voice interrupted. "Have you gotten lost again?"

She gave Remus a stern look. "You lot are just upset I found a chamber none of you could find in nearly seven years. I was talking to Clarke, but I keep getting interrupted."

Remus seemed reluctant to take her word for it. He took a step forward, hand hovering in a barely noticeable way over the pocket where his wand was inevitably stored. He frowned at Snape.

Snape glared back.

Bridget concluded that boys were utterly ridiculous.

"Are you sure?" he asked before something like recognition sparked in his eyes. He turned slowly to her. "Did you say you were speaking with Clarke? As in that portrait?"

She rolled her eyes. This was getting to be a bit exhausting. Weren't they supposed to be clever?

"But it—"

"He," she corrected sternly. He rolled his eyes, but continued his thought.

"_He_ doesn't speak with anyone. He doesn't even talk to all of the professors."

"He was talking with her," Snape interrupted. "Now could one of you move to the side so I can get to the Library?"

Before Remus had a chance to say the insult Bridget could see brewing in his mind, she pulled him to her side of the hallway and Snape brushed pass. Her lips quirked up into a smile.

"It was nice talking to you Sevvy!" she called after him. He stopped, his shoulders tensing up, but kept walking after a pause. She smiled, content. "That was fun."

"The portrait of Godfrey Clarke speaks with you?"

Bridget gave him a stern look. "Yes. I do wish everyone would get over it; it's not that big of a deal. Was there something you wanted?"

"Er." Remus was looking at her as if she were a small child who had done something clever without realizing it. Bridget hoped he was smart enough to know when to let well enough alone. "I was wondering if you wanted to watch the scrimmage. It's Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw."

Apparently, he was smart enough to know when to quit. Wait. "Really?"

He grinned; it reminded her of Sirius. "Yeah. You can finally see James play. It really is spectacular."

* * *

It was spectacular. There was something very natural in the way he flew, as if it were an inborn talent that he had obviously taken the time to polish to near perfection. Bridget wondered if he would have gone into professional Quidditch if it hadn't been for the war and everyone's expectations. She'd never seen a professional fly, but James outstripped everyone on the field, even Willow.

And the game itself was just as amazing. Bridget absolutely loved it; she could already feel the giddiness of an oncoming obsession. She'd always been a bit of a tomboy, having grown up watching or playing every sport imaginable, but Quidditch was even better than football... not that she was ever going to tell her father or brother that.

Gryffindor had won, too. Granted, Willow wasn't going to be too happy about losing for a... well, a while, but Bridget really didn't care; James was going to be ecstatic.

She left the Kitchens with Remus, levitating massive amounts of food and drink with their wands. Bridget frowned at the mountain of food in front of her; she still wasn't completely confident about her levitation charm and she didn't want to lose concentration.

"Audaces fortuna iuvat," Remus said to the portrait, before gesturing for her to go first.

"Fortune favors the bold?" she muttered to him. "That's a bit... self-serving for a Gryffindor, don't you think?"

"But it's true."

Laughing, Bridget carefully climbed through the portrait whole. She turned and an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush to another body as the other hand cradled the back of her neck.

The food fell to the floor with a resounding crash in the sudden silence.

Bridget melted into the kiss. Her arms wound up around his neck, fingers threading through his hair. He kept her pressed against his body with the arm he'd snaked around her waist, using his other hand to angle her head the way he wanted. It was the perfect culmination of all those weeks of tension and almost-kisses.

Or it would have been if she'd been kissing James. It hit her like a jolt to the back of her head that she _wanted _to be kissing James.

Sirius pulled back. "Sorry, love," he whispered, sounding almost apologetic but mostly pleased. "There was this wager with Bradley Newton—you've met him."

The stifling silence of the room was making it difficult to think, especially as a backdrop to Sirius's babbling. The only sign that Sirius had even noticed that they were in public was the fact that he'd positioned himself between her and the rest of the Common Room.

"It's fine," she finally said. "I'm going to… run away now, if that's all right."

He nodded. "Would you like a distraction, then?"

"Please."

After a quick, conspiratorial grin, he spun around, arms spread wide. "Okay, Newton, pay up. I did it."

"That was planned," the sixth year Chaser argued good-naturedly as he dug through his bag. "Anyone would be willing to snog her for a minute, galleons or not."

"So you're bollocks at timing," Sirius shot back. "Anyone who saw the game could tell you that."

He started to make a show of counting out and checking the coins and Bridget slipped away. She needed a drink.

* * *

She'd gotten her drink. It was only butterbeer, which was more likely to get her sick from sugar before she'd even get a buzz, but it still tasted nice and gave her a pleasantly warm tingle. Bridget sighed and drew herself tighter, settling into the cushion of the couch. It would be nicer if she was closer to the fireplace.

"Cold?"

She started at the voice, watching as James slid down into the seat next to her. He offered her a weak smile and a new butterbeer.

"No," she replied as she took the bottle. "I'm fine. Thanks."

It felt weird and awkward, at least to Bridget. He was sitting rather close and, well, she didn't have crushes all that often. She was having a hard time keeping herself from blushing.

"Do I need to," he made an awkward gesture with his free hand, "talk to Sirius or something?"

Uh… she frowned, brow furrowing. "What?

His ears flushed red and he refused to look at her, instead staring down at the bottle he was fiddling with. "The… er… bet."

"Oh," Bridget said, a little confused. "No. That's okay. He apologized." She gave him a small smile, shrugging sheepishly. "Well, as much as he ever does."

"Right."

He settled back into his seat, nursing his drink (it didn't look like butterbeer) with a worried frown spread across his face. Then she realized why he was concerned. Her cheeks flushed pink.

"James, sweetheart," she started hesitantly. He finally looked up at her. "I know better than to harbor some sort of… crush or whatever on someone like Sirius Black, as much as I like him. Platonically." Of course, she knew better than to harbor one for James, too, but that was obviously going strong. She just hoped no one ever found out about it.

"Good." There was relief thick in his voice and Bridget tried not to feel pleased at it. He was probably thankful that he didn't have to deal with the inevitable aftermath. She didn't blame him. "I wouldn't want to be the one to tell Willow."

"What does Willow have to do with any of this?"

James smiled, much more naturally than he had been doing so a few moments earlier. It, sitting there with him, felt normal again. He seemed pleased with the way she smiled back.

"Willow fancies Sirius," he announced triumphantly.

She tried not to laugh; she really did. But, she couldn't help letting a giggle or two escape. "No, she doesn't. Don't be ridiculous. Sirius is _not_ her type."

"Really," he drawled skeptically. "Then who is?"

"Remus."

James's eyebrows shot up high enough to be hidden by his hair. "Willing to wager on that?"

* * *

_**Author's Notes: **_Terribly sorry about the long wait. Again. I should be getting my student loan soon, and buy a new laptop so I'm not working solely off of the kindness of friends and family. Please review if you read; the more reviews I get, the more likely you lot are going to guilt trip me into updating.

Thanks to _**PieAnnamay07**_, _**Lift the Wings**_, _**Coquettish**_, _**Michelle Black a.k.a. Elle**_, _**Naflower05**_, and _**Luna'sTwinMarriedToFredWeasley **_for the review, _**Lacers**_, _**Coquettish**_, _**Michelle Black a.k.a. Elle**_, _**scrockangel**_, _**ObsessedandRepulsed**_, and _**Luna'sTwinMarriedToFredWeasley **_for fav'ing _KM, __**Michelle Black a.k.a. Elle **_for fav'ing me and _**Amaya-hime**_, and _**Naflower05 **_for putting _KM _on story alert.

_**Next time:**_

"_What?" Bridget stared at the other girl. Her hand and quill were suspended over the parchment, dripping large blotches of black ink. "You can't seriously… you think _James _would _do _that?"_

"_Of course he would," Lily replied coolly. "He's done worse before."_

"_But…" she blinked, feeling lost and confused. "Have you met him before? Like, really, have you ever _spoken _to him? Are we talking about the same James Potter?"_

"_Yes." Lily glared at her book. "It's not difficult to believe and I don't think he should be using you to cover for him."_

"_Lily, he's not." She looked up skeptically and gave Bridget a long, disbelieving stare. "No, really, he's not. Geez, he's got to be the most chivalrous man I know. He's a bit of a jerk at times, but he'd never willingly hurt a female if he can help it. And he nearly clocked a Hufflepuff who made a joke about my legs; he wouldn't suggest that something could be compromised about my… honor or whatever ridiculous notion he has about me if it wasn't true_. Or if he didn't trust you, for that matter. He wasn't lying.

"_I mean, I may have taunted Snape a bit more than I should have, but I did not deserve the reaction I got," Bridget continued seriously. "He had me pushed against the wall with his body pressed along mine. He was just pissed off and I doubt he was going to do anything, but that doesn't excuse the fact that he's _bigger than me._"_

_Lily looked devastated. "James was… right?"_

"_Yes, that's what I'm trying to say if you'd pay any attention. He…" Bridget hesitated; the words felt like they were stuck in her throat. "He loves you, Lily."_


End file.
